


Sleeping Beauty.

by grovicisms, Sapphirianna



Series: happy ends are hard to come by [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Insanity, Jack Pattillo is a godsend, Royalty AU, Suicide, king AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grovicisms/pseuds/grovicisms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphirianna/pseuds/Sapphirianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reign of King Geoff the First was a prosperous one. He was respected and admired by the people, promoting peace and sanctuary throughout the Ramsey Kingdom. The people thought him infallible. Some even wrote him off as a god.</p><p>But, even he was not immortal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the King's Men

**Part I**

_**"Death is a fearful thing."**_

William Shakespeare 

 

No one expected him to take the throne.

 

While King Geoff the First was considerably laid back, easily amused, and flexible despite his position, the people of his kingdom respected him. A decade passed with the Ramsey banner flying brilliant greens into the cerulean sky dotted with white cotton clouds. Peace reigned, unbreakable, firm. The people were content.

 

No one expected him to fall.

 

His closest advisor placated the public with stories of far off illnesses capable of sending the great king into a deep slumber akin to death. (He might have been considered as such if not for Jack's quick thinking when he had suddenly collapsed afront the crowds during the celebrations of the king's birthday.) But the public took no solace in the wise blacksmith's words, and thus the Ramsey kingdom fell into a new era of midnight in panicked thrashing.

 

In the days following Geoff's fall, Jack held the responsibilities of the king, preferring to be referred to as the steward, before the castle itself fell into complete disarray.

 

Michael, often referred to as Mogar, the warrior of the palace, paced to and fro, guarding the throne room's doorway with an impatient fervor. To the left stood Ray, the Red Knight, silently watching his friend's frantic feet as he reclined against the stone wall. On the other side stood Ryan, the Relentless Knight, coolly staring at the opposite wall, his thoughts elsewhere.

 

"Goddamnit, Jack said he'd be done _two hours_ ago!" Michael huffed, finally coming to a stop directly in front of the towering, ornate spruce doors.

 

"Give him a break, Michael. He's been working his ass off trying to find the culprit." Ray eyed his friend in sympathetic annoyance. "The people are panicking. They think someone poisoned Geoff."

 

"And why would they _want_ —"

 

"Without an heir apparent, the throne is ripe for the taking." Ryan interrupted him. "Poisoning Geoff, no matter how generous or kind he might have been, is the best route."

 

Michael shot him a pointed look, ignoring the ice in the blue eyes of his friend. "Then why doesn't he go ahead and haul ass for the throne? Jack doesn't even sit in the damn thing."

 

"He's pretty certain that Geoff'll wake up soon." Ray shifted uncomfortably. "Though there's no guarantee—"

 

" _Don't talk like that_." A hiss echoed in the corridor. Heads turned to find a young man with spiky brown hair and green clothing.

 

"Gavin—" Michael started, but Gavin's strained voice cut through.

 

"Just—don't talk like that."

 

With that, the jester turned on his golden booted toes and marched stiffly away, the bells at the tips of his shoes jingling quietly, with Michael staring after him until his hunched form liquidated in the shadows of dusk.

 

"He's taken Geoff's illness roughly," Ryan commented, an eyebrow quirked at the thought. "He's normally much more happy-go-lucky."

 

"My boy—" Michael muttered, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous."

 

"Michael, you need to know that if the assassin took the throne so soon after Geoff has fallen ill, everyone would be suspicious. Obviously he wishes to sweep through more majestically than in the violence of the poisoning. Besides, Geoff is still alive. Sort of." Ryan leaned back against the wood of the door. "Anyone taking the throne right now is out of the question in the public eye. They won't take kindly to someone who isn't Geoff."

 

"Then what the hell do we do now? Wait?" Michael spat into the growing tension, hand shifting uncomfortably to the hilt of his sword, gripping the well worn handle for comfort.

 

"We wait until Jack has an idea on who to prosecute—or execute, rather—or until he chooses a successor." Ray's statement settled uneasily in Michael's stomach. "The vagabond might be waiting for that decision as well. It's probable that our malefactor is actually someone who would've been close to Geoff and thinks he has a shot at being chosen himself."

 

Michael's resumed pacing halted once more.

 

"Are you saying that it's one of us? _Bullshit_."

 

"I said it's probable." Ray fingered the rapier sheathed at his hip.

 

"That might be why he didn't _kill_ Geoff, per say." Ryan readjusted his cloak to rest more evenly on his shoulders. "He either just wants Geoff ousted without killing him, or he really doesn't want him to die. Ray could be right. It may be one of the closer to him."

 

Michael swore colorfully, running a hand through the short brown curls stop his head. "So it could be anyone. _Fuck_."

 

"We'd do best to avoid suspicion ourselves, Mogar." Ryan quipped. "You are known for your rashness. It'd be uncharacteristic of your fierce loyalty to the king."

 

"Yeah, well. In times of suspicion, no one is safe."

 

"Ray, the Red. You might want to keep your wits about you." Ryan stated, observing the relaxed expression gracing his features. "It's rumored you climbed your way by blood to knighthood from peasantry."

 

"Right. Always pick on the little guy for actually succeeding for once," Ray commented drily. "I did what I had to do, and my title has little to do with blood, mind you. If that's what casts suspicion on me, then I'd rather take Geoff's original _Rose_ title."

 

"Ryan. You've gotta be careful too. Being called _the Relentless_ isn't necessarily good for public images." Michael relaxed his grip on his weapon, resting only his palm on the pommel.

 

"Ryan the Relentless. Known for the constant pestering of our liege and the unending chess matches." Ryan snorted. "I'm hardly a suspect."

 

"And Gavin's so dull I'd think he'd accidentally poison himself instead."

 

Michael chuckled. "Hate to say it, but you're right, Ray."

 

The trio broke into grins which shattered immediately as the doors creaked open, revealing an exhausted Jack.

 

"You alright, Jack?" Ray asked as all three straightened to stand at attention, concern creasing their brows. The blacksmith waved them off with a weary swat of his hand.

 

"Nowhere near finding Geoff's kind assassin, if that's what you mean." Jack started down the hallway with the three knights close behind in a cluster of brown, red, and maroon cloaks. "But I did keep half the guard from rebelling sometime in the near future."

 

"Fantastic," Michael growled. "Captain Kerry is a pain in the ass."

 

"He means well, Michael. He's just," Jack fumbled for words, "misguided at times. Easily influenced."

 

Michael slowed as he recognized the particular tapestry to the right, a tight knit pattern depicting something along the lines of a wrestling match of some sort between two men—he recalled at one point Geoff mentioning that it was some far away country that prided itself on its martial arts. He'd called it "Kung foo or whatever the fuck it's supposed to be called". Michael held back a heavy sigh and jogged back to his friends who had advanced toward the end of the hall where a simple oaken door stood alone.

 

"Is he in there?" Ray scrutinized the door, deeming it to be too modest to be the door to the king's actual quarters. "I know you're trying to be careful, but—"

 

"—we can't let anyone near him, Ray. He's too weak. Too vulnerable." Jack pressed a weathered hand to the grain of the wood. "Come, I'm sure he'd be glad to hear from you."

 

Inside was a room separating the outside corridor from the inner chambers. It was obviously Jack's room due to the various sketches of weapons and buildings outlining his creative genius. Simple emerald green drapes decorated the four walls and a sturdy bookcase leaned against the far wall. Jack's bed sat to the left, the deep forest green covers meticulously stretched over the mattress.

 

Jack lead the group to the far right corner of the room where the bookcase rested. With ease, he braced his shoulder against it, and the wood creaked under the strain as it slid away to reveal yet another door.

 

“Holy shit, is this the only way in?” Michael gaped. Jack let out a strained laugh, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

 

“Just about. Only a few maids are let in throughout the day to check on him.” He explained. “You might call it paranoid, but it’s safe.”

 

“Nah, you’re not paranoid, Jack,” Ray shook his head. “Just thinking ahead.”

 

Ryan signified his agreement with a nod and a smile. “I don’t know what we’d do without you, Jack.”

 

“You’d all do the same thing—” Jack’s sentence died in his throat when he pushed the door open. The trio behind him fell into a similar silence, grim expressions burning away the strained smiles.

 

Beyond the door was a spacious room, vibrant green cloth draped from the ceiling. The walls were a warm gold in color. Another door graced the far right wall. A desk sat off to the left, every inch of its oaken surface covered in books and papers and quills. In the center, there stood a large bed with the same rich green fabrics swathing a figure. The king looked so fragile, the blankets pulled to his chest, his tattoos stark against the sickly pale skin. He seemed almost a child amidst the emeralds and the golden embroidery, the once great king’s broad frame dwarfed by the massive bed.

 

Sitting in a chair placed next to the aureate headboard of the bed was a familiar figure dressed in the same green, the scarf entangled in his hands as he leaned onto the edge of the bed. Gavin gazed at his friend with glazed eyes. If he had noticed the entry of the four, he didn’t give a sign. He only continued his silent vigil at his father figure’s side.

 

The silence was broken by a quiet whine that slipped from the depths of Michael’s throat at the sight. Ryan swallowed hard, and Ray averted his gaze. Jack took a step forward.

 

“That’s good, his breathing is less shallower than this morning,” he commented, if only to split the uncomfortable quiet that had fallen once more. He settled himself at his desk to pour over the documents. Ryan took a place near the door, leaning against the wall. Ray picked another chair on the opposite side of the bed of Gavin. Michael grabbed a stool from the corner and placed it next Gavin’s chair, sitting beside him, grabbing his shoulder.

 

“Hey, Geoff,” Ryan’s voice, though soft, seemed to pierce the air.

 

The only sound for a few lengthy moments was the whistling breathing of the unconscious man and the shuffling of paper.

 

“I know you can hear us.”

 

“The gang’s all here, Geoff.” Ray murmured. Michael remained uncharacteristically silent alongside Gavin. Another minute passed before Gavin started shaking, the sobs choked in the back of his throat. His eyes were wet with unshed tears.

 

“I wish he would just start laughing his ass off like he always does,” Michael growled, his anger directed towards no one. “And start shouting about how fucking stupid we all are for falling for such a trick and his voice cracking like the goddamn idiot he is—”

 

He didn’t get much further, as Gavin suddenly broke into heart wrenching sobs that forced everyone to swallow their own grief as they watched him bury his face in the scarf. Michael clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain composed as he ran his hand over his friend’s heaving back, attempting to provide some source of comfort.

 

Ray found himself staring at his hands, clenching them and unclenching them into fists. Jack’s movement at the desk halted as he quickly wiped a hand over his own watering eyes, forcing a chuckle, commenting that he couldn’t see the paper. Before long, even Gavin quieted.

 

It went on like this in silence until the candles burned low and they left the room one by one, Ray the first to excuse himself, Ryan soon to follow in the dying light. Finally Michael gently guided Gavin from his chair, softly murmuring to him on the way to the door. He cast Jack a worried glance, taking his brown cloak and covering the slumbering blacksmith before throwing his arm around Gavin once more and closing the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best way to start a story is with a mystery.


	2. Trust dies, mistrust blossoms

The days fell into a sort of monotony. Ray found himself standing outside the throne room door, his red cloak bleeding gray in the twilight. Beside him stood Mogar, hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched. Between them always sat an uncomfortable silence as the seconds ticked agonizingly slowly by. Ryan would join them as soon as his own shift ended.

 

Every night it was the same thing. Ray would jump when the doors creaked open, and Jack would mumble an apology. Michael would comment on the dark purple creases stamped under the steward’s eyes, and he would only wave it off. They would walk down the corridor length, Michael stopping to stare at the tapestry. It brought him memories of Geoff’s laughter and acted as padding to soften the blow of seeing the king propped up with pillows like a broken doll.

 

He saw that view every night, and every night, he took his place beside Gavin, who refused to speak. Gavin had ceased to talk altogether. He never responded to Michael’s urging to eat, to sleep. He flinched under the gentle press of Michael’s hand on his shoulder, even pulled away a second later as if the hand were a hot iron. Michael said nothing. He respectfully withdrew, leaving Gavin to withdraw into his own thoughts and worries.

 

Ray made little effort to soothe Gavin’s grief, so wrapped in his own as he was. Ray too had quieted. His quick wit turned dry and his humor lost its usual brilliance. Moments where the conversation was rich with opportunity went without his commentary.

 

Overall, the general humor had become a desert in the absence of Geoff’s voice squeaking in laughter. It was something they all missed.

 

Gavin shifted silently, rousing each man from his reverie. Ryan meandered over to Jack who sat at his usual place at the desk, pouring over age old documents.

 

“If you keep that up, you’ll get dusty.” Ryan observed. Jack’s only reply was a shrug.

 

The silence returned, tense and begging to be broken.

 

“I don’t understand,” Ray obliged with a murmur. “I just don’t understand.”

 

“None of us do.” Michael leaned back with a sigh. “No one does but the son of a bitch who did this.”

 

“Damn it.”

 

The entire group started at the husky growl that erupted from Gavin. Four pairs of eyes found their gaze trapped on the young jester’s hunched form. Only then did Michael recognize the flames burning in his friend’s feverish celadon eyes as an untempered rage, and his heart was suddenly struck with a fear so rare he pulled back.

 

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand! I don’t bloody understand!” His voice was gradually raising in volume and pitch. “I don’t understand how someone close to him could do this!”

 

The tense air suddenly grew palpable as Gavin’s fingers curled into the blankets.

 

“I don’t understand how anyone could wish this on him! I don’t understand why anyone would want him to have to have _injections_ of nutrients to keep him alive!” Gavin doubled over further. “Geoff is a _good man!_ He’s a great king! He’s always been a great king! We know he is! We’ve—we’ve been with him all these years and yet you _ruin it!_ ”

 

The desperation caught in his throat for a moment, forcing him to stutter. Ray gripped the clasp of his cloak tightly, feeling the indentations forming in the palm of his hand. Michael almost seemed to deflate at his words. Jack flinched at the heavily accusatory tone, rolling the quill he’d been using between his fingers. Ryan averted his gaze to the floor as if his shoes were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

 

“You ruined it! You—you broke him! You traitors! _You fucking traitors!_ I thought we had something! But you broke him! You fucking broke him!” He was wild with hysteria. His cheeks were wet with the overflow of hot tears streaming down his face from his wide eyes. The rest remained silent, but he just kept _screaming_. His words repeated themselves, forming a manic mantra of grief that the others could taste in the bitter air. Eventually the hysteria cracked into splinters and Gavin was left with his face buried in Geoff’s comforter, the wails of _“Geoff please”_ s and _“I’m sorry”_ s muffled by layers of thick fabric.

 

Eventually even those cries died away, leaving the five in utter silence aside from Geoff’s rattling breaths.

 

Ray stood slowly, his head down. “I can’t do this tonight, I’m sorry.”

 

The others nodded in understanding as he swept out of the room in a flurry of red and black. Michael soon followed, pausing at Gavin’s sleeping form for a moment before turning away, leaving him to his blissfully dreamless sleep. Ryan exited quietly on Michael’s heels as not to disturb Gavin, and Jack left mostly out of courtesy.

 

“Leave him be,” he said as he closed the door behind them. “It’s about time I slept in an actual bed. I’ll make sure they’re alright, Ryan, Michael.” And with that, he urged the knights from his room, suggesting that they themselves got some rest. Michael was more than willing to oblige, knowing the exhaustion was fraying his nerves just as much as Gavin’s outburst had, and he, accompanied by Ryan, left.

 

So Jack was left alone with his thoughts and the echoes of Gavin screaming in the seemingly never ending void of the night.

 

* * *

 

The next day was hardly different from the day before with the exception that Gavin was actively avoiding everyone and anyone. In the halls he walked alone, brushing past Michael’s concern and Ray’s heartfelt glances. The two stared after him as he passed in the hallways.

 

“God _damn_ it!” Michael hissed, slamming a fist into the cold stone wall. “I can’t _do_ anything!”

 

“Gavin has to figure it out for himself,” Ray said.

 

“Well he’s a damn child!” Michael snapped. “You don’t know how his mind works, Ray. He gets this idea in his head and he’s a dog with a bone. He won’t come to a rational conclusion by himself—”

 

“And _you_ will?” The ice in Ray’s voice snapped Michael out of his tirade. For a moment, the warrior could only stare at his fellow knight in abject horror which quickly turned into rage. His face grew bright red and he felt himself give way to the unexpected hatred growing in his gut.

 

“Excuse me for caring about him, okay? And fuck you! I can make rational decisions.”

 

“Huh, really? Because it sure doesn’t sound like it right now.” The sneer in Ray’s voice only threw gasoline upon the fire.

 

“Bastard!” Michael spat. “I’m more qualified than you are!”

 

“Turning this into a contest now?” Ray pulled his shoulders back and took a step towards the warrior. “Or are you admitting to being a fucking traitor?”

 

The statement sliced through the air like a hot knife aimed at Michael. It hit its mark deep in Michael’s heart. Just then, he picked out Ryan’s form down the corridor.

 

“Ryan!” He called for his friend who regarded him with a quizzical quirk in his brow. “Tell this _bastard_ that I am no traitor.”

 

“Gentlemen, please don’t—”

 

“Our good _friend_ ,” the word was dripping in malice as it left Ray’s lips, “just told me that he is more qualified. Qualified for what, the throne?”

 

Michael didn’t hesitate to retaliate. “You son of a bitch. Oh wait, that’s more accurate now that I think about it.”

 

“My mother has nothing to do with this.”

 

“Well she would, wouldn’t she?” Michael hissed. “Your peasant heritage could only be a great motivator for you to take the crown, wouldn’t it?”

 

Ray suddenly fell silent, rage etched in every crease on his face and written in his clenched jaw. Ryan finally came to the rescue just as the two both reached for their respective weapons, pushing the two apart before either could slit the other’s throat.

 

“Ray! Michael!” he barked. “That’s _enough_! Michael, stop this. You’re being irrational—” He was cut off as Michael lunged forward to grasp Ray’s collar.

 

“What is _going on out here?!_ ” Jack’s horrified voice rent through the tension and the trio halted. Wild eyed, Michael shoved Ray back with a snarl.

 

“ _Don’t_ talk to me again.” And with that, he readjusted his cloak and stormed away, not to be seen again later that night in Geoff’s room where they usually gathered to end the day.

 

That night, Geoff’s chambers were graced only by the presence of Jack and Ryan, and neither dared to speak of the violent argument witnessed only hours before. They spent the night in silence, feeling the weight of the three lads’ absence, and without any reasoning that could explain away their dear friends’ erratic behavior.

 

That night, they both left the room without speaking a single word to one another before parting ways. They both knew that those nights of joint grieving were over.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve decided.”

 

Ryan glanced up from his post next to the all too empty gold throne to see Jack leaning against his desk off to the right of the throne. Ryan had noticed his friend’s uncharacteristic anxiety earlier but had written it off as the exhaustion that had him conked out for a good hour while he should have been writing reports. (His nap had left him with an interesting imprint of a quill on his left cheek, but Ryan had refused to say a word in favor of Jack’s dignity. Luckily, Jack hadn’t noticed his muffled snickering.)

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve decided who’s the heir.” Jack stretched, and Ryan winced as he could hear Jack’s spine pop back into place after being hunched over for hours on end. He reminded himself to force the poor steward to lie down in his own bed for once.

 

“Oh? Who?”

 

“It’s Ray. And he’ll be king until Geoff wakes, and that looks like that will be soon, actually. He’s showing signs of improvement.”

 

There was a moment before Ryan burst into a bright grin. “That’s fantastic!”

 

“I thought he might be okay with helping me out with all this damn paperwork.” Jack sighed. “It’s a big responsibility being king, but Ray can handle it while Geoff recovers.”

 

“I’m sure.” Ryan took a step forward. “Might I have the honor of informing him?”

 

“Of course!” Jack’s smile seemed to brighten the too dim room. “I’ll go find Gavin and Michael.”

 

Ryan followed him out the great wooden doors and they parted ways, Ryan going left, towards the barracks, and Jack heading to the right.

 

When Jack entered the mess hall, the room instantly quieted out of respect towards the steward. He reassured them with a smile and sent out on the almost impossible task of finding Mogar.

 

When he discovered him, he found him picking at his plate with disinterest.

 

“Michael?”

 

“Hey, Jack, what’s up?” Even Michael’s voice carried utter defeat. It had been a week since the fight between him and Ray, but they hadn’t spoken since, the spark of tension lighting whenever the other was in the room.

 

Jack slid into a seat beside him. “I know you and Ray haven’t gotten along this last week.”

 

“I went overboard, didn’t I?” Michael muttered, stabbing a stalk of broccoli with his knife with unnecessary force. “God, I’m a fucking idiot.”

 

“Well, I’m sure Ray doesn’t really hate you—”

 

“You don’t know that, Jack.” Michael heaved a sigh. “Pretty sure Ryan hates my guts too.”

 

“Michael—” Jack started, his brow creasing in concern.

 

“Fuck, _I_ hate my guts.” Another innocent vegetable rent in two. “I can’t bring myself to trust them anymore, Jack, and I don’t know why.”

 

“The fact of the matter is, Michael, I didn’t come to give counselling, actually.” Jack eased the knife from his grip. “I’ve chosen an heir.”

 

Michael didn’t respond at first.

 

“And I want you to come with me to congratulate him.”

 

“Sure.” The warrior shrugged absentmindedly, pushing his plate away and standing. “We gonna go get Gavin?”

 

“Yep.” Jack heaved himself upright. “If you can help me find him. I haven’t seen him in several days.”

 

“He’s been outside in the courtyard tree.” Michael jabbed a thumb in the direction of the courtyard. “But he won’t come down for me or anyone.”

 

Jack frowned. “Let me try.”

 

Michael raised an eyebrow at the suddenly mischievous grin that bloomed under the man’s beard. “What’s your plan?”

 

“Oh, just something that Geoff used to do when he would ensconce himself in that tree of his when he was a kid.” Jack gestured for him to follow.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Trust me, it’s going to work.” For whatever reason, the easy smile Jack gave him as he spoke soothed the black pit in Michael’s heart and he found himself tagging along with a laugh at the sight of Jack literally _skipping_ down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

The courtyard was nothing notably special. A single great oak tree sat among rows of meticulously attended rose bushes. There were, of course, several old benches littered about.

 

Jack made a beeline for the tree, a bundle in his hands and a sparkle in his eye. It took him a moment to realise his efforts to pinpoint the green-clad figure were not going to work.

 

“You blend in, Gavin. I can’t find you.” Jack called into the bright green leaves.

 

“Good.” The voice seemed to come from directly above Jack’s head. “I don’t want you to find me.”

 

Michael remained quiet if only out of pure curiosity.

 

“Well, we need you to come down, Gav.” Jack spoke in a gentle voice. “Don’t make me go ‘nanas.”

 

A snort. Jack turned his head towards Michael, who instantly covered his mouth with a hand, biting back the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface as Jack revealed the bundle to be a bunch of bananas.

 

“Jaaaaack,” Gavin whined from above. “Don’t, please—”

 

“Too late!” With a huff, Jack lobbed a banana into the branches above him.

 

“Jack!” There was a squeak and a shout as Jack threw two more bananas at the source of the sound. Michael burst into laughter as Gavin’s shouts raised in pitch. Before long, the lanky man appeared with an armful of bananas, hopping to the ground in mock rage.

 

“You’ve done it now, Jack!”

 

“Oh shit!” Jack suddenly turned on his heel. “Run!” He clotheslined a nearly breathless from laughing Michael and dragged him along, a final banana clutched in his hand.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“You’ll see!” Jack slid around a corner just as a yellow fruit collided with the back of Michael’s head.

 

“Ow! Fuck!”

 

“Sorry, Michael!” came the airy laugh from behind. “Banana on the run!”

 

It took them a good ten minutes and a few bananas to the head before they managed to lure Gavin into the throne room, a place he hadn’t set foot into since Geoff fell unconscious. They burst through the doors, chests heaving in bubbly laughter and the occasional obscenity. Jack ruffled Gavin’s hair much to Gavin’s dismay.

 

“See?” He turned to a grinning Michael.

 

“Who knew bananas were so useful?”

 

“Haha, right?” Jack’s grin lasted a moment before he regarded Gavin’s sudden silence with caution. “Gav?”

 

“I’m sorry for being an ass.” Gavin was staring at the floor, cheeks still red from the exertion. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

 

Something broke within Michael and he found himself pulling Gavin’s wiry frame into a hug. “It’s alright, Gavin.”

 

“I’m sorry, Michael. I’m so sorry.” Michael could feel him beginning to quiver under his arms.

 

“Stop it with the waterworks, man, it’s unseemly.” He drew back and whacked him playfully on the shoulder, grinning himself when Gavin sniffled and managed a smile. “Hey, you’re always gonna be my boy, ‘kay?”

 

“‘Kay.”

 

The moment lasted only that, a moment, of uncommon joy. But the sense of happiness imploded as someone threw open the doors.

  
It was Ryan. Wild eyed and with what could only be tear stains, he was breathing heavily, and in his arms was the limp form of Ray, blood dripping to the floor like an impossible crimson rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, this isn't entirely following the Minecraft King!Series, but we're doing our best to somewhat parallel them.
> 
> Also, did you notice a few other Let's Plays we've alluded to? Expect more of them! We've still got a long ways to go.


	3. Funeral for a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There is a brief implication of suicide in this chapter.**

The day started with an even gray drizzle over the castle, appropriate for the event at hand, observed Michael. He glanced around himself and could only find blacks and grays surrounding him. For a man known fondly as _the Red_ , his funeral was much too black and white.

 

Ryan stood to his left, staring blankly ahead at the obsidian casket draped in the banner of the Ramsey kingdom. To his right stood a very solemn faced Gavin, donning dark clothing all for the exception of the scarf he constantly wore. Jack stood beside the casket, a single red rose in his hands.

 

No one said a word. Everyone had known Ray to be a valiant knight of quick wit and generally good company. Everyone acclaimed Ray’s death to defending Geoff from an attacker. Only the four knew the truth.

 

Only they knew of the true cause of Ray’s “valiant” and “heroic” death. Only they knew of the hole in Ray’s heart carved by his own hand. His blood was imprinted on their minds in a storm of crimson floodwaters.

 

Michael turned to Ryan, the one who had discovered the knight lying in a pool of his own blood, and eyed him with concern. He was pretty certain he hadn’t seen the man blink in the hour they’ve been standing vigil.

 

“Ryan?” He nudged his friend gently with a murmur. “Do you need to step away for a bit? Ryan?”

 

Ryan ducked away without a word, leaving Michael to stand beside Gavin in silence, both staring after him with darkening expressions.

 

“Ray, he’s—he’s really gone, isn’t he?” Gavin whimpered. Michael threw an arm around Gavin’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and choked out a “yeah” before the word got caught behind the lump in his throat. He almost couldn’t bear watching Jack drop the rose in the rectangle hole in the ground after the casket.

 

“Rest in peace, Ray the Red Rose. May we never forget your bravery.” Gavin squeezed his eyes shut as Jack finished the ceremony. “Ray was to be king in Geoff’s absence, but now we are once more in search of a leader.”

 

Michael stared blankly at Jack’s black ceremonial cloak, barely registering his words.

 

“Michael Jones, please step forward.”

 

He snapped out of his trance and obeyed, stepping away from the ranks with a grim expression though his confusion nearly blinded him.

 

“Mogar, you have served this kingdom long and hard. I have no doubts that you will lead us righteously and justly. I am sorry that it must be today and now to appoint you,” Jack’s voice wavered. “But I am proud to announce you King Michael, the Righteous. Long live the king!”

 

Michael stood, petrified by shock, turning to the crowds behind him who echoed the chant until his ears were filled with nothing but the solemn voices of the people shouting _“long live the king! Long live the king!”_ and the drumming of shovels pouring mounds of dirt on Ray’s body long gone cold and gray.

 

Gavin offered him only a grim smile that was obviously only for show. Michael stared wide eyed into the horizon, a haunted gleam in his eyes. In his mind, he only heard the chanting of Ray screaming “You did this to me! Murderer! Murderer!” as his guilt consumed him like a fire.

  
_Murderer, murderer, now a king._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably the shortest chapter we have written, but it's one of the most important, as well.
> 
> And if it makes you feel better, many a tear was shed in the making of this particular chapter.
> 
> Also, for those who don't recognise the chapter title: [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqNkMnLD_uE) the song that inspired it.


	4. We need never be hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We (that is, Sapph and I) have decided that we're going to do a double update. It'll continue until we either a) run through our already written chapters or b) until the fic is completed. Either way, expect updates on Fridays and Saturdays!

Michael often found himself standing in front of the throne instead of sitting in it. Like Jack, he refused to consider himself more than the temporary caretaker, but he understood that his responsibilities lied with helping Jack, who was already worn to far and too thin to juggle everything at once. So he left the crown on the armrest of the throne. It was far too heavy for him to wear as it weighed on his heart ten times more than on his head.

 

“Michael, could you come here a moment and look at these?” Jack gestured for him from his desk. “I might just be going blind but I can’t seem to make out these words.”

 

Michael stood over the desk, taking the page in his hand and scanning the words. He slammed it down with a hiss. “Damn it. We need _Geoff_ , not me. I’m not suited for this, Jack.”

 

“Yes you are, Michael.” Jack spoke slowly, as if he were a child too young to understand a complicated concept. “I chose you because you can do this.” He paused with his gaze on Michael. “Besides, Geoff has been starting to wake up. Bear with this for a little while longer. _Please_.”

 

He didn’t kid himself by telling himself that the haunted look in Michael’s eyes went away at the mention of Geoff. Jack had gotten a bit used to the haggard expression and the constant complaining. Michael truly didn’t see the leadership qualities within himself. Oftentimes, Jack would catch him asleep next to the throne on the floor, murmuring in feverish dreams a whispered _“I’m so sorry, Ray.”_ For all his reasoning, he couldn't convince Michael that he was not the one ultimately responsible for Ray's suicide. And so Jack was forced to watch his nightmares from a distance.

 

The only times Jack had seen Michael relax somewhat was when Gavin paid a visit, which was rare as Gavin had spent the last few days sitting at Geoff’s bedside, awaiting that moment when Geoff opened his eyes for the first time in months. There was no laughter; there was no joking. The two usually sat together, staring out the window together. Other times, Jack peeked into Geoff’s chambers to catch the two of them fast asleep side by side, and he would quietly close the door behind him, leaving the two friends to await their king’s revival.

 

Michael huffed, turning away from the desk to return to his place beside the throne. He had only taken two steps towards his destination when a figure suddenly threw open the doors. Jack perked up from his desk in mild alarm.

 

“Michael! Jack!” Gavin’s voice split the room with a barely contained excitement. The jester burst through the doors, eyes bright for the first time in months and a brilliant smile on his face. If it weren’t so inappropriate, Jack might’ve teared up for seeing Gavin like his old self for once in the last few weeks.

 

“Geoff—!” They needed no other information.

 

He might have accidentally spilled an inkwell on some important documents, but at that moment in time, Jack couldn’t find it in himself to care. He'd have to rewrite them later.

 

It took all his self control not to break the door down in his rush to see his friend alive and awake. And when he opened the door with as much gentleness as he could muster, Jack felt the sting of tears in his eyes, for there he was, sitting mostly upright among the pillows and contemplating the silken green scarf in his hands. At the sound of the creaking hinges, Geoff looked up, and despite the hollowed cheeks and pale skin, Jack had never seen him so brilliant. So _alive_.

 

“Took you long enough.” Geoff’s voice was hoarse with disuse, but Jack could feel the warm streaks of tears wetting his face at the sound.

 

“God, Geoff—” he started, only to be shoved out of the way by a very impatient Michael.

 

“Geoff! God, Geoff! Geoff, sweet holy Jesus!” The young warrior named king repeated his name like it would be the last thing he ever said. Michael collapsed at the bedside, his knees buckling beneath him in the sheer relief of seeing his king awake. He gripped the bedsheets with shaking hands. He looked up when he felt the gentle, if bony, hand fall over his own. Instantly, Michael felt the emotions flood over him and there was a freefall of tears amidst of all the _“thank god"_ s, _"you fucking bastard”_ s and the overflow of Gavin and Geoff’s laughter as Michael swore up a storm. To Jack and Michael, there was no sweeter sound. And they drank in the joy with tear stained smiles.

 

But they knew that the inevitable was coming, and it came as no surprise to them when Geoff suddenly quieted and surveyed the three with a quizzical expression.

 

“Where’s Ryan?”

 

“Probably sleeping,” Michael said easily, despite that being the opposite of the truth—or at least what he knew of the truth. They hadn’t seen Ryan in the days since Ray’s funeral. He had taken Ray’s death the hardest, and none of them could find it in themselves to blame him. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

 

“Alright then,” Geoff played off his disappointment with a laugh. “Let him rest. Is Ray around?”

 

There it was, the landmine. The smiles fell and suddenly Geoff was looking at ragged individuals. Michael swallowed hard, and Gavin turned his gaze to his hands. Jack scratched his beard to hide the pain. Geoff looked between all three of them.

 

“Guys, where’s Ray?” Geoff’s voice cracked as he attempted a stern tone. “Tell me.”

 

Jack took the fall. He heaved a shaky breath. “Ray’s dead, Geoff.”

 

Immediately, Geoff fell silent. At that moment, his expression suddenly broke and he turned to Jack with an expression halfway between anger and complete and utter sorrow.

 

“Tell me what happened.” He spoke slowly and carefully, his voice thick with the unshed tears his weakened body could not afford. “Everything. I want to know.”

 

* * *

 

Michael was antsy. He paced back and forth in front of the throne, wringing his hands together in nervous energy. Jack chuckled as he dipped the quill in the inkwell.

 

"Michael," he sighed. "Stop that. You'll wear yourself out."

 

Michael only continued marching, his brow furrowed in concentration "I can't, Jack. I just can't."

 

"Well stop it," Jack said calmly, putting the finishing flourish of his signature. "There. There's the last of the papers I ruined." He slumped back into his chair with a huff. He watched as his king began circling the throne.

 

"Michael, Geoff is fine. He's been recovering well," Jack rose from his seat. "The kingdom is well, and all your work is done for today." He waved a hand in the direction of the doors. "Go see him if you're going to be like that all day."

 

Michael halted, but continued bouncing on his toes like a child. "Can I?" And without waiting for an answer, the warrior fled the room, dashing down the hallway.

 

He paused for a moment next to the tapestry, regarding it with a grin that crinkled his eyes. A grin that hadn't graced his features in months. But Michael didn't stay long, sprinting past a confused guard and bursting into Jack's room and subsequently Geoff's.

 

Geoff didn't even start at his sudden entrance. He only sleepily glanced up from the book in his hands, a page between his still too thin fingers, ready to turn. He blinked slowly at Michael's silhouette in the door frame before a fond smile grew to overtake the thoughtful thinly stretched lips. He gestured for his friend to take a seat in the chair usually reserved for Gavin. Michael sat, pulling the chair close to the bedside.

 

"Hey, Mogar," Geoff chuckled, a watery version of his usual laughter, but Michael ignored the sudden rush of sorrow, pushing it aside for the glimmering joy only just beginning to flicker in his heart. He smiled at the title, relieved that Geoff never spoke to him as if he were the king. Geoff still regarded him as his friend, his equal, despite the curious circumstances that had lead to Michael taking his place as ruler.

 

"How are you feeling, Geoff?" Michael inquired, leaning forward to take the book from the older man's hands. "Y'know, Jack told you to stop pushing yourself," he quipped much to Geoff's dismay. He chuckled when he saw the moustache twist as he scowled.

 

"Nosy fucker," Geoff growled. "So what if I want to read a bit? I've been out for a couple months."

 

"You're tiring yourself out, Geoff," Michael spoke with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "A little reading is fine, but you need your rest."

 

"I've been _resting_ for months!" Geoff huffed. "You'd think I wouldn't need any more for the rest of my life."

 

Michael barked a laugh, closing the ancient tome carefully. "C'mon, Geoff. Don't make me go get Jack."

 

Geoff grumbled to himself as he nestled deeper into the pillows.

 

"You're like a child," Michael commented with a smile.

 

"Yeah, well, I feel like one. Can't do a single fucking thing for myself anymore."

 

Michael placed the tome to the side, leaning back in the chair with a snort. "Go the fuck to sleep, Geoff."

 

"Just when you got here?" Geoff scoffed. "You're mad if you think I don't want to talk to you."

 

"Yeah, but it's late." Michael stood with a stretch. "I'll pop by in the morning. It was good just to see you awake, Geoff."

 

Geoff puffed a sigh and grumbled unintelligibly into his pillows. Michael felt a warm expression form at the sight. This was much more like his king. It warmed his heart to witness him so alive and so grumpy, reminiscent of the days before he had fallen comatose. Michael eased the door shut behind him, leaving the slumbering king in the dying candlelight.

 

* * *

 

The morning slipped in with a golden blur of sunlight pooling on the far wall of the throne room. Jack reclined at his desk, sitting across from a very cross Michael.

 

"I know you wanted to go talk with Geoff this morning, but you're just going to have to sit your ass down for just a few minutes, kid, and sign the damn paper. I need it _now_."

 

Michael growled under his breath but obliged anyways, angrily scratching away at the bottom of a wrinkled parchment. He was pretty sure that the deep purple splash was a remnant of a wine spill. "How long ago did Geoff promise to sign this?"

 

"A really fucking long time ago." Jack was busy himself with a stack of documents outlining the improvements made in the last year on the kingdom's capital: Achievement City.

 

_"Achievement City, Geoff?"_

 

Jack found himself smiling at the fond memory.

 

_"What? It sounds awesome! Rolls off the tongue smoothly."_

 

A clatter woke him from his memories as Michael plopped the quill back into the inkwell and pushed the parchment in front of Jack, who nodded his approval.

 

"There, now that wasn't too hard, was it, Michael?"

 

Michael scowled at him, prompting Jack to chuckle.

 

"Michael! Jack!" Gavin's cry pierced the golden sunlight as he shot into the room. Immediately Michael and Jack were on their feet, rushing to their friend. Michael gripped his hands with a force so strong it forced a whimper of pain from Gavin. His pale green eyes were wide like that of a small animal awaiting its doom. A half sob cascaded from his lips as he collapsed into Michael's chest, latching onto him as if he were the only thing tethering him to existence. Jack instantly made a beeline for the door, understanding the wild glance from Michael. And Michael only stood there, letting Gavin sob into his arms.

 

The boy was too small, too brittle in Michael's grasp. His cries of _"Michael! Michael!"_ buzzed in his ears until Gavin's voice was all he could hear. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself against the heaving sobs that wracked Gavin's frame.

 

It was the sudden quiet that unnerved him.

 

"Geoff, he's—" Gavin hiccuped amongst his sniffling. "He won't wake up!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look how easily we ripped the happiness away. I'm not sure if I should apologise for that or not.
> 
> I think it's because of the John Green quote.


	5. When the levee breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilá! The conclusion to Part I.
> 
> There will be no double update this week, unfortunately. I (grifisms) preferred to just leave it on a cliffhanger for Part II, which will be uploaded next week. That goes for the rest of the fic as well.
> 
> Enjoy!

He shouldn't have let himself fall into the comfort of Geoff's apparent recovery. He had been doing so well. He had been talking, even laughing with his friends only minutes after he was first fully conscious. He had been studying (much to Jack's dismay) and reading and writing only days after he had first opened his eyes. He had been weak, but _so alive_ that his brilliance blinded them with a burning hope.

 

Michael wallowed in his anger in silence. He perched on the edge of Jack's bed, his knees pulled into his chest as he glared angrily at the wall, accusing it of his failures. Of his own shortcomings. He had let himself be blindsided by Geoff's relapse.

 

Jack had holed himself in Geoff's quarters, leaving Michael with the duties as king—alone. Gavin had retreated to his tree again, and Michael could not find solace in anything.

 

He suddenly found himself wondering how Ryan had took the news. Ryan had been close with Geoff, and with Ray's death so recent still, there must be a void expanding exponentially in his heart. He couldn't stop himself from rising to his feet, halting only to stare at the door for a few more moments, his heart screaming for Jack to throw open the door and announce that Geoff was only taking a long nap and had woken again. How his ears ached for the laughter he had shared with Geoff. Oh how his heart just _ached_.

 

And so like he had yesterday, he left Jack to attend to what appeared to be Geoff's deathbed. Jack had only emerged once the previous day to relay the news that Geoff was currently locked in bloody conflict with death itself in that void between the living and the dead. But it was obvious who the victor would be.

 

Geoff would die within three days of agony.

 

Michael felt ice drip down his spine at the thought. He couldn't bear the notion of Geoff convulsing in pain. The thought brought an acid to his throat, and he dry heaved. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up.

 

He forced himself to divert his attention to smoothing out his cloak. He couldn't afford to dwell on such thoughts. With that in mind, he swept out the door, wandering down the hall.

 

Perhaps Ryan would appreciate a visit from his friend. A twinge of guilt fluttered in his stomach as he meandered the corridors. He hadn't had a chance to visit with Ryan in the weeks after he had been named king in Geoff's place, in the weeks following Ray's death. He wondered how Ryan was.

 

Michael wandered through the barracks, stopping at what he knew to be Ryan's room. He blinked, taking in the sight of the empty room slowly. Ryan's bed sheets were still in disarray. He must have left in a rush, Michael mused as he closed the door once more, shutting away the subtle signs of Ryan's own remaining grief behind the creaking wood. Michael turned on his heel and hurried away, the image of a knife dug deep in the wood where Ryan must have scratched away absentmindedly burned into his mind.

 

He set off in search of his friend. Deep in his heart, Michael found gladness in the fact that Ryan had actually left his room, but irritation soon followed as he scoured the castle for him and found him nowhere.

 

"Damnit, Ryan," he hissed as he carefully closed the throne room doors behind him. "The _one_ time I get around to talk to you, and you're not there!"

 

"Hey, Michael." The heavy voice of Gavin stripped away the anger boiling just beneath the surface.

 

"Gav?" Sure enough, the jester perched atop Jack's desk, now clear of parchment and documents of some importance. He still wore that silken scarf, and the green popped amid the dark taupe of his tunic. He looked so small, pulled in on himself.

 

"Wanted to see you," the young man murmured. In the quiet, his voice seemed all too loud, and inside Michael, a familiar wound split open at the sound. He felt the edges of his mouth twitch upwards into a shadow of a smile.

 

"Sorry, Gav. I was out looking for Ryan." He readjusted his slightly askew cloak. "Couldn't find him anywhere. Have you seen him?"

 

Gavin shook his head as he dropped to his feet, and Michael crossed his arms with a harrumph. "Damnit."

 

As Gavin opened his mouth to speak, the doors creaked open to reveal a familiar form.

 

"Ryan! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you." Michael brightened immediately as said knight entered silently, his head down.

 

"Sorry." He frowned at Ryan's hoarse voice. "I was busy."

 

"Hey, you alright, Ryan?"

 

"Yeah, just fine."

 

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the vast room as Ryan made his way towards the throne. When he finally stood in front of Michael, only then did he raise his head.

 

Gavin stifled a flinch at the dark violet creases under Ryan's darkened eyes.

 

"Hey," Ryan began slowly, a glazed look in his eyes. "Have you guys seen Ray?"

 

The duo froze immediately. Gavin clamped his eyes shut, his hand flying to his mouth to muffle the choking inhale that suddenly fled to his lungs.

 

"Rya—" Michael reached out a hand to grab Ryan's forearm, but he instantly yanked back under Michael's shocked gaze.

 

"I can't find him. He was just here, I—" Ryan paused, regarding Michael with a quizzical expression. "Where did he go?"

 

"Ryan," His voice shook. "Ray is dead."

 

"He was—he was right here." Ryan glanced around. "That asshole just left me here, didn't he?"

 

Michael stepped forward, searching Ryan's eyes. "Ryan. Ryan! Listen to me. I know it hurts, but he's dead!"

 

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks, turning to Michael with anguish quickly transforming into wild rage.

 

"He's dead, Ryan. He's been dead for weeks." Michael felt the rage steaming in the core of his being, coming out as screams. "He's dead, Ryan. He's not here! You're mad, Ryan! You're seeing things!"

 

"No, you don't understand—" Ryan stuttered, his jaw twitching as he fought hard to control himself from lashing out at Michael. "—he was here, and he said he supported me! He is here!"

 

"Ray is _dead!_ "

 

_"STOP IT!"_

 

A sputter, a choking sound, and Michael suddenly collapsed in Ryan's arms. Gavin felt a scream rip from his throat as horror flooded his veins. The desk groaned under the sudden weight thrown on it, and it toppled over with an ear piercing crack.

 

Silence.

 

A metallic stench wafted and permeated the air, and Gavin found himself choking on it. Blood. He recognized the smell immediately. Deep crimson seeped from Michael's body in a rush of heavy substance. He gurgled as he slipped to the floor, weakly grasping at Ryan's bloodstained cloak. His lips, bubbling with red froth, drew back in a pained snarl.

 

Ryan was breathing heavily, wide eyed and grimacing. He stared as the once great palace warrior's fingers slowly gave way and fell, still shaking, to the stone. Michael convulsed with a sickening scream that rent the air, burrowing into Gavin's brain. If there had been a second voice harmonizing with Michael's, Gavin didn't recall. He lunged forward, wrapping his body protectively around Michael's and cradling his head against his chest.

 

"No, no no nonono! Michael," he ran a hand through his friend's hair frantically. "Michael, no, please. _Please_." He brought a hand to Michael's cheek, angling his face so he could look him in the eye.

 

"Don't do this. _Please_ don't do this to me, Michael." He felt the words build and collapse in his throat, a tide that washed jaggedly over his stuttering tongue. "You said I'll always be your boy, right? Michael, please." The words flowed as fast as his heart was beating, a constant pleading.

 

Gavin curled in on himself, rocking back and forth in a sporadic rhythm. He clutched his friend to his chest, unaware of the deep red bleeding through his tunic. His breath came in hiccups.

 

" _Please don't leave me, Michael._ " His body shuddered as he wailed openly into curly hair.

 

There was silence in his arms.

 

Gavin jumped, instinctively curling tighter around the body in his arms when Ryan's longsword clattered to the ground. The sneering cackle ran down Gavin's spine as ice, and a shiver raced through him involuntarily as Ryan burst into hysterical laughter.

 

"I'm taking it."

 

"W—what?" Gavin scrutinized him as Ryan's trembling fingers wrapped around the cold, golden crown and brought it to his head. It was the smile. The smile unnerved him the most.

 

"I'm taking it into my own hands," Ryan grumbled down at his bloodstained fingers with something akin to elation laced in his voice. "This war."

 

"What war?" Gavin almost startled himself with the amount of malice his words contained aimed at Ryan. He clutched Michael closer as an instinctive reaction to the dark chuckle that emanated from Ryan.

 

"It's for the good of the kingdom, Gav." Ryan spoke slowly as he circled the throne as if it were the jaws of a ferocious beast.

 

"What good can you bring about?" Gavin snapped, pulling the body close. "You _murderer!_ "

 

"I had my reasons, Gavin," Ryan sighed as he finally eased himself into the throne. "I had my reasons," he repeated softly, as if convincing himself of the statement. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the velvet plush.

  
"I had my reasons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you stay tuned for Part II.


	6. Hell is paved with good intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modifying the updating schedule again. We figured that we'd allow you guys a day in-between updates to take it in and prepare yourself for the next update. ~~And Sapph and I are extremely impatient.~~
> 
> And, now begins Part II. Enjoy.

**Part II**

_**"That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain."** _

William Shakespeare,  _Hamlet_

 

King Geoff taking the throne marked a turning point in the Ramsey Kingdom. No longer plagued by a lifetime of war, an era of peace followed the king's reign and for years, the people lived in content. The king's calm and easygoing demeanor made it easy for them to accept him. They found a simple routine to fall into under the Ramsey name, respecting the green banners shining emerald in the midday sun. King Geoff ruled for almost a decade without facing the threat of war.

 

Almost.

 

Since Geoff was proclaimed king, the neighboring kingdom watched from the sidelines, occupying the front row seats to witness the growth and change of the domain they regarded as their enemy. Years of bitter relations and past conflicts bubbled to the surface, and their loathing became a cesspool of negativity, ready to overflow at the slightest indication that King Ramsey would strike.

 

Despite the looming threat their neighbors presented, Geoff showed no interest in fighting. He made no move to go to war, but he made no move to rectify the situation. He had his knights, he had his kingdom's happiness; that was all he needed. Though, that didn't stop his residents next door from fabricating their own plans to put an end to King Geoff the First. Everyone seemed to be so enraptured by the king's distinguished personality, they didn't take heed to the hazard that was their neighbor.

 

Few were cognizant of the omnipresent risk the people of the north posed—those being his majesty's knights, his adviser, and even the fool whom the king saw as a son rather than mere entertainment. Only they knew of the war emerging from the nearby land, but only one was bold enough to confront the king about it.

 

Ryan the Relentless—named for his impeccable cunning and refusal to back from a challenge—observed the kingdom adjacent and ascertained his suspicions of an impending war. And while he respected Geoff to the utmost, Ryan thought he needed to be a little less lax in his rule. He believed Geoff needed to take action, though whenever he confronted the king about it, he was assured that everything would end as everything should: in peace.

 

With a decade of his reign passed, Geoff's answer hadn't changed.

 

And neither did Ryan's persistence.

 

"Geoff," he would start. "We can't waste any more time. The people of the North are readying their armies as we speak. If we act now, gather our own warriors—"

 

But, it always ended the same.

 

Geoff would raise his hand and Ryan would fall silent. "You're overthinking this, Ryan." His voice was firm, yet gentle. "If we show them we mean no harm, they'll realise they're wasting time gathering an army. And no kingdom—regardless of how resentful—will waste a strong offense on a lost cause."

 

It would end with Ryan offering a rebuttal, and Geoff striking it down in his kind, easy way. He would notice the knight's exasperation and suddenly, it wasn't the King he was speaking to. It was Geoff; his friend. He'd place a hand on Ryan's shoulder and offer a charming grin. "It'll be alright, dude. It's under control."

 

Ryan was never convinced.

 

Year after year, Ryan would plead with the King to at least consider the idea of preparing for inevitable bloodshed and every time, Geoff never strayed from his way of peace. There was a time Ryan was sure Geoff would listen. An advocate sent to assassinate the King got as far as the main hall, only to be struck down by the palace warrior, Mogar. That night, Ryan approached Geoff again.

 

"My liege." How Ryan went out of his way to use Geoff's title spoke volumes; his patience was wearing thin and, while he truly admired Geoff, Ryan was tired of him tiptoeing around the problem. "You saw what happened today. If Michael hadn't been there, you would've been—"

 

"I know what would've happened, Ryan!"

 

It was rare to see Geoff angry. Ryan had yet to witness the sight, and he would be lying if he said he didn't flinch at the sudden sharp tone Geoff's voice had taken. "I know."

 

Ryan gave a single nod. "Geoff, I—"

 

Geoff held up his hand. "Let me finish. What happened today was a close call, I agree with you there. But that's all it was."

 

Ryan grit his teeth but kept silent.

 

"I know you're worried about the status of the Northern Kingdom. And I respect that. It speaks volumes about where your heart and loyalty lies." Geoff sighed. "But, your insistence on going to war? What would it prove? That we're the superior of the two domains? It would cause more trouble than it's worth."

 

They fell into a tense silence, giving Ryan time to mull over Geoff's thoughts. He seemed adamant about remaining neutral and it told Ryan everything he needed to know. Arguing with him about the matter would get him absolutely no where.

 

Ryan would need to take matters into his own hands, and the only way for him to ensure the safety of the kingdom was to remove Geoff from the equation.

 

Nothing pained him more than the realization that he would have to, somehow, get rid of Geoff.

 

He had spent months trying to find another alternative, as a staged murder was completely out of the question. He would invest all of his time pouring over scrolls and books detailing various toxins that could act as sleeping drafts, but death was a side-effect for nearly all of them. It wasn't until he read the fine print that he discovered a loophole.

 

"'Administered in small doses,'" he read aloud. "'the draft will send the victim into a slumber akin to death, awakening only when the drafts' effects subside.'"

 

It was almost too perfect, but Ryan was left with no other option. He didn't want to bring Geoff harm. If he ever began to doubt his actions, Ryan would remind himself that it was all for the good of the kingdom. That he was providing a service to the people.

 

And most importantly, to Geoff.

 

In a week's time, he had managed to brew himself up the malignancy he would use against Geoff. He conducted multiple tests on stray chickens he had come across and was able to determine the correct amount to administer to Geoff. Not enough to kill, but enough to make him comatose.

 

Pulling a few of his own tricks out of his sleeve, Ryan slipped the draft into Geoff's ale.

 

The blight's effects didn't kick in until hours later. There were hardly any ill side-effects, as Ryan administered to Geoff as little of the toxin as possible; any more would prove a very uncomfortable and agonizing experience. Something Ryan wanted to avoid if at all possible.

 

Ryan knew exactly where he was when news spread about the King's sudden illness. He was one of the first to receive word, putting on a façade of feigned ignorance in regards to what happened. After that, it was all a matter of strategy.

 

Every waking moment wasn't wasted. He was always in a constant state of deep thought, determining what his next move was and how he was going to implement it. Of course, everyone immediately began asking questions, wondering what happened to their king, who could possibly bring him harm, and even whether or not he would recover. It was almost too easy how everything played out as Ryan predicted. All he had to do was play his role.

 

He assumed already Michael would point out that he was bound to be a suspect in the investigation, mentioning his title and how it doesn't do well for his image. Michael was right, of course, and despite his quip about chess matches with Geoff, the first thing Ryan had to do was take some of the heat off himself and shine the spotlight on someone else. All without making it obvious that he was indeed at fault.

 

He intended to plant a metaphorical seed of doubt amongst his friends in hopes of creating a bit of turmoil between them. He liked to call it "team-breaking."

 

It was imperative that his meticulous planning be executed without a single complication, or else run the risk of him being discovered. It would all be for nothing, in that case. And while he couldn’t shake off the feeling of self-centeredness his method constructed, his intentions were still pure.

 

He just hoped his friends would understand when everything blew over.

 

The means of establishing a sense of wariness amongst his friends would prove to be the more—if not, the _most_ —difficult portion of his design. Even despite his own cleverness, Ryan had to admit that creating the mistrust within their group, and potentially destroying their friendship, was certainly troublesome. Getting Michael to doubt Gavin, or Ray to distrust Ryan himself would take some time. Not to mention, it would take a lot of effort on Ryan’s part to ignore his own remorse.

 

During their time with Geoff, who laid unmoving on the spacious bed, Ryan seized his opportunity and used the time to determine who would be the first he needed to approach.

 

His answer was clear when the green-clad figure sitting at the edge of the bed wept, shoulders trembling with the force of his sobs.

 

Though his heart cried out in protest, his head and his reason ultimately won.

 

He approached Gavin not an hour after they all trickled out of the room. Michael had left the boy’s side and Ryan was quick to act. The smile he presented the jester with went unnoticed, as Gavin completely blocked out his presence. Ryan stood at his side nonetheless.

 

“Hey, buddy.” Ryan’s gentle tone pulled no response. “The guys and I were talking earlier. About who could have done this.”

 

Gavin remained silent, but the slight nod showed that he was paying attention.

 

Ryan continued: “We all agree it was someone in the palace.” He could see Gavin tense, but silence still resided.

 

“It could’ve easily been one of us.”

 

Gavin snapped out of his daze upon hearing that statement. There was a fire in his eyes as he glared at the knight, seemingly poised to jump him if Ryan gave him the chance.

 

It was almost terrifying.

 

“You’re wrong.” His voice was low, possessing a dangerous edge Ryan hadn’t thought it was capable of. “All of you. It was someone else. It _had_ to be someone else.”

 

Ryan’s sympathetic smile faded and in its place appeared a frown. “I know you don’t like the idea, Gav. None of us do. But we can’t entirely rule it out, can we? Not when we have absolutely bupkis telling us otherwise.”

 

The intensity in Gavin’s expression vanished. With his tired eyes and slumped shoulders, it added years to his age. Ryan had never seen him so run down. Distantly, he regretted every moment he spent trying to sever Gavin’s bond with their friends.

 

The young jester only answered with a weary nod.

 

A quiet sigh escaped Ryan’s lips. “I’m sorry, Gavin. But we have to consider every possible option.” He reached out, actually surprised Gavin didn’t pull away from the hand Ryan rested on his shoulder. “I am truly sorry.”

 

If Ryan was honest with himself, he really didn’t know if he was apologizing for the bad news. In his head, he was apologizing for everything he did, for everything he was about to do. A steady mantra of _I’m sorry_ ’s echoed in his head: a constant reminder of his guilty conscience.

Gavin left soon after, a nod accompanied by an inaudible grunt signalling his departure. Ryan stood fixed to the spot until the boy disappeared from his sight. Only then, in the company of nothing but empty silence, did Ryan fall to his knees, voicing the silent mantra aloud.

 

* * *

 

Gavin’s outburst days after allowed everything to fall into place. Ryan could see from the way his fellow knights were behaving that they, too, were beginning to crumble under the scrutiny from both Gavin and from each other. They would deliberately avoid each other when at all possible, glower in the other’s direction when they thought they wouldn’t be noticed, even go as far as accuse each other of poisoning Geoff—though the latter only happened once.

 

Michael even tried to bring Ryan into an argument, forcing him to be Ray’s voice of reason, to which he would simply back out of by telling them they need to solve their problems on their own. An argument he remembered well, as it very nearly erupted into physical violence. Despite Ryan’s initial reluctance to interfere, Michael’s insistence showed that he still trusted him.

 

In a way, he was almost glad Michael called for him.

 

His position as the neutral party proved to be essential in maintaining the trust he had between Ray and Michael. Though he hadn’t quite anticipated Gavin alienating himself, Ryan figured it was a small price to pay for being the one to plant the idea that any one of them could be guilty in his head.

 

Although, Ryan was certain Michael lost all trust in him when he heard that he and Ray had their own private discussion regarding the choosing of the heir only minutes before Jack planned to announce who it was.

 

Another small price to pay.

 

Ryan rapped at Ray’s door, entering the room only when he heard Ray’s tired voice grant him entrance.

 

“Hey, Ray.” Ryan smiled as the shut the door behind him. His smile faltered a bit when Ray didn’t respond with his usual easy grin. “You feeling alright?”

 

Ray shrugged from his position on the bed, the movement jostling the headboard. “Been thinking, is all. About who the heir will be.” His voice lacked the usual intonation and liveliness it usually possessed.

 

In two quick strides, Ryan was seated on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging under the sudden weight. “You have no reason to worry. Jack’s going to announce him any minute now.” Ray looked as if he was going to interrupt, but Ryan charged forward. “If it’s you, you’ll have Jack and I there to help. You don’t think we’ll make you take on all the responsibilities alone, do you?”

 

“Well, no.”

 

“Trust me, Ray,” he continued. “Whoever it is, I promise you it’ll all work out.”

 

Ray’s silence almost suffocated him, if only because he was so accustomed to Ray being the one to break silences, usually with a witty remark about whatever he pleased. Ryan could tell just how put off he was when he let the silence extend to an almost uncomfortable duration.

 

Ryan was about to speak when Ray finally piped up. “Alright.”

 

An idea popped into Ryan’s head then. “Tell you what. You can stay here, and then I’ll come tell you who it is, okay? You take it easy.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Ryan. I got it.”

 

Ryan nodded, offering a reassuring grin before he stood up. “You’ll send for me if you need me?” Though, it was less of a question and more of a command, but Ray didn’t seem to mind. His response of a _yes, sir_ and a mock salute seemed to satisfy Ryan for the time being. He left with a wave before shutting the door behind him.

 

In hindsight, maybe he could have been a little more help.

 

Immediately following Ryan and Ray’s exchange, Jack had named the heir.

 

Ryan was beaming. Ray becoming heir marked the beginning of the end to Ryan’s plan. With his guilt and discomfort alleviated somewhat, Ryan offered to relay to news to his friend. The sooner Ray took the throne, the sooner threat of war could be abated. Geoff would wake within the next few days, and when he did, he could reclaim his throne and their lives would take a turn towards normalcy once again. The joy of coming so close to the end fuelled Ryan’s need to tell Ray.

 

He didn’t bother knocking this time around, barging in with a shout of Ray’s name and a smile plastered on his face.

 

A smile that was shattered the moment Ryan stepped inside. What was once a profound feeling of elation soon turned into a staggering rush of absolute dread.

 

He noticed the blood first. Copious amounts of it stained the wooden flooring, the red seeming to coalesce with the grain of the wood, making it appear black in a stark contrast to the area around it that went untouched. The air was thick with the scent of the substance, its metallic stench wafting throughout the room in an attempt to escape to the fresh air outside. Ryan almost gagged when the malodor assaulted his nostrils. The only thing keeping him from dry heaving was the shock he felt upon seeing the body lying propped up against the foot of the bed.

 

Ray’s small figure rested against the bed frame. From where Ryan stood, he was certain Ray wasn’t breathing until Ray let out a single wet cough, his entire body convulsing from the force of it.

 

Spurred into action, Ryan rushed to Ray’s side. Hands were pressed against the wound in Ray’s chest as Ryan tried desperately to staunch the bleeding. What began as a mental chant of _no no please no_ soon became audible as the beginning of an anxiety attack threatened to overtake Ryan’s conscience. “Ray. Ray, please, just—talk to me, _please_.”

 

His begging was interrupted by another cough. “Ry—Ryan?”

 

“Yeah. It’s me, buddy, it’s Ryan.” Words tumbled from his lips of their own accord. “I’m here. I’ll get you out of this, okay? I won’t let you die like this.”

 

Ray shook his head. Weakly, he managed to bring his hand up to Ryan’s and looked him in the eye. “Ryan, stop. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Of course it matters! Ray, _please_. You’re the _heir_ , now. You can’t—” Ryan struggled to keep the flurry of emotions in check. His voice cracked without resolve as he spoke. ”—you’re supposed to keep everything running, remember? And I’m supposed to help you.” Ryan could feel an overwhelming rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach, directed only at the man responsible. “I swear on my life, I will find the man who did this, Ray.”

 

Ryan was teetering on the edge of an ardent fury that nearly consumed him until he noticed Ray smiling at him with that dumb, cheeky grin he presented whenever he made a joke. It graced his features in such a way that it appeared ethereal compared to the carnage.

 

“I did this, Ryan. No one hurt me. It was my fault.”

 

Ryan’s animosity dissolved into a consolidation of anguish, terror, and curiosity. The mess of his thoughts twisted Ray’s words, and though he said _I did this_ , Ryan instead heard only what his subconscious thought. _You did this_. “Ray—”

 

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell Ray everything, confess to him that poisoning Geoff was his own doing, that it was all just an elaborate ploy to finally create peace between the two rival kingdoms. Never did he desire for someone to _die_. Ryan made sure that Geoff would recover. He never anticipated for someone else to become collateral damage. Ryan was absolutely certain he had accounted for every variable, every possible scenario.

 

But, he was too invested in his own well-being to account for the comfort of one of his closest friends.

 

_You did this. You did this._

 

The melodic repetition droned on until Ryan was deaf to any rational thought.

 

He was defeated.

 

“Ray…” His voice was rough, grated with emotion. “What do you want me to do?”

 

A tired smile tugged at Ray’s lips. Ryan envied him for staying so calm. “Stay here. Not really fond of the whole ‘dying alone’ thing, y’know?”

 

Ryan was surprised by his own bitter chuckle. “Yeah, of course.”

 

He situated himself so he was sitting next to Ray, draping an arm across Ray’s shoulders and pulling him closer until Ray’s head was pillowed against his shoulder. Ryan kept his free hand settled over the hole in Ray’s chest. The slow fade of his heartbeat still lingered. Any other time Ryan would make some crack about how symbolic the whole thing was, but Ray deserved a little peace.

 

_All the peace in the world._

 

He remained in his spot on the floor even well after Ray stopped fighting. Only then did he notice the knife sitting in Ray's lap. The blade was stained crimson, the glow of the faint torchlight illuminating it in an orange haze. Ryan's stomach churned, and he looked away. Vaguely, he thought he would need a new cloak afterwards to replace the one ruined by a shade of red different from the maroon he wore, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. Ray’s death weighed on him heavily.

 

He wasn’t sure he even _wanted_ to care any more.

 

Only long after Ray’s body ran cold did it occur to Ryan to relay the news to the others. It fell on him to take on the dreaded task of informing everyone of the death of their good friend. In the midst of his search for them, he stopped and sat in an empty corridor with Ray’s body cradled to his chest, his grief becoming too overwhelming for him to even stand. Ryan would find himself muttering quiet apologies into Ray’s hair, among other things, tears free-flowing in muffled sobs. Empty promises that _everything will be alright_ , and pledges that justice would be maintained fell from Ryan's lips. “I'll make it worth it,” he promised. “You won't have died in vain.”

 

It was in those short setbacks where Ryan’s resolve was slowly chipped away. Whether by grief or guilt didn’t matter, as both had the same destructive consequence. It was whittling away so desperately slowly at Ryan’s sanity, Ray’s death having brought the end to his life as well as Ryan’s sound judgment.

 

_Death to one brings death to all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delving into Ryan's mind is so fun.
> 
> And, starting now, we're going to be including links to songs that we found rather fitting for each chapter (including team songs, as well), so you'll have that to look forward to. Plus, the composer is _phenomenal_ , so it's a definite treat.
> 
> For this chapter we have:  
> [Winterwolf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U62YkXZNs8M), one of my personal favourites.  
> [Aura](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOe4Y7jvV7M&index=18&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E). This one can be listened to during Ryan discovering Ray's body.
> 
> And our team song this go round is for the R&R Connection. Seems only fitting, if you ask me. Their song is: [Remember](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BW5tO6mOD8).
> 
> Part II is in full swing. Are you ready?


	7. Happy hauntings, and pleasant dreams

A bleak, early-morning shower set the mood for the already somber funeral service honoring their fallen comrade. Ryan, standing off to the side, had his gaze trained on some point beyond the black casket encompassing the lifeless body of Ray. He hadn’t spoken, nor so much as acknowledged Michael’s attempt to grab his attention, caught within his own thoughts and replaying Ray’s words over and over again in a steady chant of _you did this, you did this, you did this._

 

He was only pulled out of his trance when something flickered into his field of view. It went disregarded, however, when it vanished seconds later. Ryan blamed it all on his exhaustion. The idea of hallucinations didn’t strike him as odd. Given the gravity of the situation, he would even write it off as normal.

 

Again, the silhouette appeared, standing behind the casket as if watching over the one occupying it. It resided moments longer before disappearing again, and Ryan was able to conclude that it was, in fact, human. When it manifested for a third time, Ryan could feel his heart stop.

 

The mirage of Ray was staring at him, his face expressionless and his body rigid. He showed no indication that he was, in fact, dead and lying in an obsidian prison that would forever rest buried deep below the ground. He merely stared at Ryan, boring holes into his skull with a blank, hollow gaze. (Ryan deduced rather quickly that he was the only one who could see Ray’s apparent ghost, as the others would have given some indication that told him otherwise.)

 

And maybe it was for the better, as it wouldn’t look very professional if they all absconded out of terror before the ceremony was completed. Ryan had a justifiable reason to leave, and no one blamed him when he fled. He was overcome with emotion and would much rather be left alone with them than risk creating a scene in the middle of his friend’s burial.

 

He sprinted the entire way to the barracks, where within the confines of his room he succumbed to his profound misery. He collapsed at the foot of his bed, his body shuddering with the force of his poorly contained sobs. All he could see was blood, all he could feel was the final rise and fall of Ray’s chest as he finally gave in to death. All he heard was Ray repeatedly calling his name, his voice reverberating in his skull, rising steadily in volume to the point where Ray's voice became so clear, so distinct that it was as if Ray was in the room with him.

 

An intense sensation of foreboding gripped him and forced Ryan to sit up.

 

Sure enough, Ray’s transparent figure he had seen only moments prior stood before him, a phantom wind blowing his cloak to and fro. His mouth was moving in a constant repetition of _Ryan, Ryan_ , growing louder with each passing moment until Ryan couldn't hear his own thoughts. The voice droned on, its monotony becoming a consistent buzz of white noise. Ryan pressed his palms to his ears to block out the sound, but the dull roar of Ray's voice resounded inside his head.

 

Ryan couldn’t take it.

 

_"Shut up!"_

 

He reached for the dagger he concealed in his boot, forcibly throwing it at the apparition in a fit of irritation and despair. Ray's figure shimmered before dissolving into nothing, taking with it the rhythmic mantra and plunging the room into a deafening silence. The dagger landed with an audible clatter on the floor where the image of Ray stood. Only Ryan's heavy breathing permeated the silence. He fell in a heap to the floor where his heavy panting morphed into desperate, muffled sobs.

 

* * *

 

_Ray was still fuming even after Michael stormed off. Inwardly, he pleaded for Ryan to step away long enough for him to lunge at the warrior. Though he wasn’t granted that opportunity, it didn’t stop him from mimicking the action, turning the opposite direction towards the barracks without speaking a word and marching down the corridor._

_He knew Jack and Ryan were probably boring holes into the back of his head as he departed, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn back and apologize for the display. Uncharacteristic as it was, Ray still achieved a semblance of satisfaction in the way Ryan told the warrior off. He didn’t need Ryan’s help, though. If it did escalate to physical violence, he could rely on his own skills to fend for himself._

_Still, Ray did appreciate Ryan’s concern._

_Upon reaching his chambers, Ray immediately latched the door behind him and, with his back pressed against the wooden surface, slid to the floor with an exasperated huff._

_“You’re a fucking idiot, Ray,” he mumbled. “You’re a stupid idiot.”_

_The minute feeling of pleasure he experienced upon seeing Michael storm off faded into regret. He always had a firm hold on his emotions, rarely ever exploding like he had, and that alone made him wish he had made a better attempt at keeping his emotions in check._

_Ryan did it all the time. Jack, too. They were always able to maintain a level head whenever someone pushed the wrong buttons. Ray had witnessed it first hand, and he envied them for it._

_“Stupid, dumb idiot.”_

_A knock on the door startled Ray out of his thoughts. “Ray? Mind if I come in?”_

_It was Ryan. Cool, calm, collected Ryan._

_Ray wasn’t sure why, but he felt strangely at ease with letting Ryan in._

_“Yeah. Just—give me a sec.”_

_Slowly, he rose to his feet. His hand shook when he unlatched the door, pegging it for the sudden exhaustion falling over him in waves._

_“It’s open.”_

_The creak of the door prompted him to turn his back, making a beeline for the bed and sitting down without acknowledging Ryan’s presence any further._

_“I, uh, wanted to make sure you’re alright.” Ryan sounded as uncomfortable as he looked. “Jack went to check on Michael.”_

_Ray’s only response was a grunt._

_Ryan sighed. “Ray, please talk to me. This is extremely unlike you and I’m worried.”_

_“Worried?” Ray snorted. “Why would you be? It’s my fault that Michael probably hates me, now. I provoked him.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, his slight stubble scratching the palm of his hand. “It’s my fault.”_

_“Stop that.” Ryan’s stern tenor voice made Ray flinch, feeling very much like a child being reprimanded by an authority figure. “It’s no one’s fault. Tensions are high right now with Geoff in the state he’s in. Everyone’s terrified he won’t wake. No one blames you, Ray. Your only enemy is yourself.”_

_Ray let the words roll around in his head for a moment. Leave it to Ryan to take on the “good guy” persona._

_He did appreciate it, though. Not to mention, he needed the company of someone there whom he didn’t want to throttle._

_“Yeah.” Ray’s sigh and reluctant nod pulled the tiniest smile out of Ryan. “I know. You’re right.”_

_Ryan chuckled at that. “I’m always right.”_

_The pair shared a brief laugh. Ray surprised himself with how easily he let the tension roll off his shoulders. “Can’t argue with that. Ryan the ‘always right’ Guy.”_

_“Damn straight.” Ryan’s smile was fleeting, the firm parental figure guise returning in the same instant. “But seriously Ray, I mean it when I say that I’ll be there for you if you ever need someone. You just need to trust me, okay? I haven’t let you down before, have I?”_

_There was a pause. Then: “No. Never.”_

_Ryan’s smile returned and remained that time around. “Get some rest, buddy. Jack will announce the heir later today, and I want you to be fully rejuvenated for when he calls your name.”_

_That pulled an incredulous snort from the young knight. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say, Sir Haywood.” Ray flashed him a brief grin that made the elder roll his eyes. “I’ll take a little R &R, or something.”_

_“As you wish, Your Highness.” With an embarrassingly over exaggerated bow, Ryan left._

_His seemingly successful task of cheering Ray up fell tumbling to the ground the moment the door shut behind him. Ryan didn’t notice the blood staining his hands as he sauntered vaguely down his own blissful road of ignorance._

 

Ryan woke in a cold sweat with the ghost of Ray’s name on his lips. His head was throbbing and his heart was aching at the memory. He had been a fool to assume the problem could be resolved with such a simple exchange. He blamed no one but himself. Had he known he’d fall victim to his own philosophy, he never would have breathed a word about it at all.

 

Irony, it seemed, was the only cruel and unusual punishment that needed dealt.

 

* * *

 

 

Ryan hardly slept after that. Even days following the funeral, the memory of Ray’s suicide persisted, never leaving his mind for any extended period of time. Visions of blood plagued Ryan’s subconscious. He dreamt of drowning in it, choking on the very substance that was responsible for maintaining life. It would crash down on him like a tidal wave and, no matter how assiduously he fought, how desperately he struggled to stay afloat, the result was always the same. He would wake in a cold sweat, covers haphazardly strewn about. His chest would start heaving as he tried to calm his fraying nerves. In the corner of the room stood the revenant of Ray, its eyes trained on Ryan, watching, waiting for him to make his next move. Ryan made eye-contact with the apparition and found that he wasn’t afraid of it any more. He almost longed for the presence—however awkward—of the phantom he’d so often refer to as his real friend. If he focused hard enough, Ryan would swear he saw the slightest trace of emotion flicker briefly across its face.

 

He was never able to fall back asleep.

 

The specter’s appearances were becoming more frequent as the days rolled perpetually on. Michael had been named king and worked with Jack more often than not. Gavin was coming around again, as well. His cheerful disposition was slowly returning, uplifting everyone's spirits bit by bit with each day that passed. Ryan wanted to feel happy for him, he really did. Gavin had been hit hardest with Geoff's illness, and he deserved to relax and be himself for once.

 

All that grief had to go somewhere, though.

 

As Gavin emerged slowly from his own fortified shelter of melancholy, Ryan fell deeper and farther into his own void of gloom. Always on his mind was the image of Ray's limp body in his arms, his blood tainting his title of _the Red_ and gracing it with a negative connotation. And for the life of him, Ryan just couldn't shake the feeling of Ray's head lying still against his shoulder, the weight of it weighing down on his conscience and submerging him in a sea of his own despair.

 

He was trapped in the perpetual notion that he was drowning.

 

And, although he appreciated the concern his friends regarded him with, Ryan opted to keep to himself. The loneliness that accompanied the heartbreak aching in his chest was the only companion he desired, though he ceased complaining about Ray's specter showing up at odd intervals. Eventually, Ryan actively sought out the ghost's presence, preferring it (now slowly becoming _“him”_ )  to the company of his friends. Call him selfish, but he found it nice spending time with someone who didn't side-eye him whenever he entered a room.

 

With due time, they both began to contribute to Ryan’s one-sided conversations he would so often strike up with the apparition. Occasionally, Ray would inquire about the status of the kingdom, and Ryan would simply explain to him how everything remained unchanged. Geoff was mentioned every now and again, but Ryan couldn't bring himself to talk about him for an extended period of time; thankfully, Ray didn't persist. Ryan found talking to him easy, even when he was alive. It was one of the reasons why he enjoyed chatting with Ray. He admired Ray's quick wit, responding with his own quip occasionally to pull a laugh out of the young knight: a sound that never failed to make Ryan smile.

 

The more Ryan interacted with Ray, the more human Ray appeared to be. His diaphanous form was beginning to solidify, eventually reaching the point where Ryan couldn't tell if he was actually a ghost or not. Though he knew he should be concerned about his state of mind, his worry was always dispelled whenever he saw Ray wave at him from across the room. Ryan would often wonder if the others would benefit from knowing that their friend was still with them, or if they would think Ryan mad for trying to justify the existence of spirits. He once brought up the subject to Ray during one of their late night chats.

 

"I dunno, Ry. I mean, you're talking to a ghost. I don't think they'll take it very well."

 

"You don't know that, Ray! What if there’s even the slightest chance they can see you? They'll wonder why I kept this a secret for so long! They'll be thrilled!"

 

Ray shook his head. "Please trust me, Ryan. I just want what's best for you. And letting you tell them I exist goes against that." The sincere smile on his face pulled a reluctant sigh from Ryan.

 

"Alright. I won't."

 

Ryan didn’t speak a word about the matter again.

 

Ray was slowly becoming his voice of reason. His voice would reverberate in his head whenever Ryan was beginning to question himself. (Ryan always joked about whether or not Ray could read his thoughts. They would share a laugh, then Ray would retort with something akin to, _"It's not reading your mind. It's more like knowing everything you know without you knowing."_ )

 

Ryan would also keep Ray informed in regards to the goings on within the kingdom. He'd give Ray an update on the status of the people of the North, on Geoff, as well as keep him informed about Michael's reign as king.

 

When Jack came to him saying Geoff was showing signs of waking, Ryan told Ray almost immediately.

 

Ryan was pacing the length of his room when Ray appeared before him.

 

"Ray." Ryan stopped, the color draining from his face as he spoke. "Geoff's awake."

 

Ray's eyes were expressionless. He was impossible to read. "He woke up?"

 

Ryan nodded. "This morning. The others are visiting him now."

 

The apprehension Ryan was feeling seemed to reach Ray, as his eyes fell to the floor. A single thought was shared between them. _Geoff is awake._ Given time, he would be strong enough to return to his throne, and unless they could fight a war in less than a month, Ryan's plan would fail. It would all be for nothing.

 

"What're you gonna do?" There was no inflection in Ray's voice. "You're running out of time."

 

Time was something he desperately needed. Maybe he could slip Geoff the poison a second time? Even then, Ryan wasn't sure if the second batch would produce a stronger effect than the first. He couldn't recall reading anything regarding it in any of the apothecary's books. Not to mention, Geoff's body was familiar with the toxin by now; it would learn to work against the intruder, and to keep the cells from eliminating the foreign entity wreaking havoc on Geoff's nervous system, Ryan would need to up the ante and increase the dosage.

 

He’d risk killing his friend in the process.

 

But, his desperation overruled any rational thought he may have had. All he could think about was how Geoff needed to be out of the picture just a little longer.

 

_I'm sorry, Geoff._

 

"I have to do it again." Ryan's hushed voice barely reached Ray's ears. "I have to. Even if it means killing one of my friends."

 

* * *

 

Ryan was sat upon the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he clutched a vial tightly in his grasp. The russet mixture occupying it taunted him. “I can’t do this, Ray.”

 

Ray stood before him. His steady gaze and taunting smirk—while extremely uncharacteristic of him—went unnoticed. “You’ve already come so far. Are you going to let your feelings betray you?” There was a malevolent edge in his voice that sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine. “You’re not a coward, Ryan.”

 

With shaking hands, Ryan turned his attention to Ray. “But he’s still my friend. He’s our _friend_ , Ray. I might _kill_ him if I go through with this.”

 

Ray, exasperated as he was, merely frowned at Ryan’s response. “You’re being selfish, Ry. Think of the kingdom. If the people of the North aren’t put in there place, they _will_ attack. And they will not relent until every one of us lies dead at their king’s feet.” Leaning forward, Ray continued. “Are you willing to let your own desires get in the way of the kingdom’s well-being?”

 

Ryan took a moment to mull over Ray’s reasoning. He was right, in a sense. Why risk hundreds of lives when he could only risk one? He knew for a fact they could win a war against the Northern Kingdom. It would make for an easy victory and promise to continue the reign of peace Geoff established. Giving their enemy a chance to launch an attack when Geoff’s people were unprepared for it would result in a bloodbath.

 

“Ryan.” Ray was smiling. A reassuring grin that filled Ryan with certainty appeared on Ray’s face. “You would be looked upon as a hero.”

 

Ryan mulled over the idea. "A hero?"

 

"Yes." Ray knelt at Ryan's feet, head bowed as if in the presence of the king. "The people would gather at the front of the palace. They would chant your name to the heavens. _Ryan, Ryan. Bestow upon us your wisdom and glory!_ They would beg for your attention. They would adore you, remember you forever as the one that saved them from inevitable destruction." Lifting his head, Ray locked his gaze with Ryan's. His eyes were aflame with the fervent desire Ryan himself had begun to feel. The desire to be successful in the eyes of the kingdom pulsed through him in bursts, soon replacing any feelings of guilt or doubt he had.

 

He felt empowered.

 

Ray could feel it, too. Ryan's sudden change of mind was all he experienced. What Ryan felt, Ray felt in excess. Their thoughts and feelings were easily shared between them. Whatever one of them thought, the other could hear reverberating in his own head. It was as if they were one person, split in two only to join again when the time was right.

 

The intermittent tremble in Ryan's hands had ceased. He exuded a fresh sense of confidence in the way he spoke. "Tonight. I'll see him tonight."

 

Ray smirked.

  
“Very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More allusions! Have you been keeping track of them?
> 
> And, the infamous ghost Ray has made an appearance! Can you guys figure out what his arrival means? Heh.
> 
> The song for this chapter is:  
> [Allure of Darkness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfuFbe_U--g)


	8. A mountain laurel for your troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Mountain laurels are poisonous!
> 
> Maybe you can guess what this chapter entails, then.
> 
> And, believe it or not, the next chapter wraps up Part II, so stay tuned for Part III!

The beat of his heart sounded in his ears. A chill ran through him with the overwhelming anticipation coursing through his body. He was almost certain anyone within the kingdom could hear his heart that seemed adamant about beating right out of his chest. After he had paced a rut in his floor, Ryan eventually deemed it the right time to finally, _finally_ visit Geoff. He was the only one who had yet to see the king since he first woke up. He received regular updates on Geoff's condition from Jack, telling him who visited when, what he was allowed to do. He was prohibited from leaving the room, and Jack refused to move him after he regained consciousness. It would certainly make Ryan's job a little easier in regards of finding him.

 

The thought put his mind at ease, if only a little.

 

He opted to go for the same route he used the first time around, spiking a pint of the king's preferred ale with the blight. The amber liquid turned sienna in the presence of the malignancy. The change was more significant than it was previous, Ryan noted, but as it dispersed, the liquor regained its initial golden color. It wasn't an original method, but it was effective all the same. It was innocuous, and that was all Ryan cared for.

 

Ray refused to accompany him on the journey to see their friend, but he offered his support nonetheless.

 

"It's for the good of the kingdom," Ray had told him. "I'm with you one hundred percent."

 

Ryan was grateful for his friend’s encouragement.

 

Night had fallen when Ryan slunk out of his room. Moonlight shone in through the windows of the barracks, casting a soft glow on the walls and creating an almost gentle atmosphere; it was the stark contrast of the events that would soon take place. Ryan's silhouette travelled down the corridors, stealthy and quick. He met neither resistance nor a distraction as he approached Jack's room. He entered after a single knock, relieved to find the room devoid of Jack’s presence.

 

Ryan shouldered the bookcase concealing the hidden room aside. Before him stood the door that would lead him to Geoff's private chambers. The wood creaked from lack of use, and Ryan flinched. He could only hope Geoff wasn't resting.

 

"Jack?" Geoff's rasping voice was quieter than Ryan had imagined. He wasn't used to hearing his friend so weak.

 

Ryan took a breath and stepped inside. "Not quite." He greeted Geoff with a smile. "Hey, Geoff."

 

Geoff sat propped up on his pillows, his shrunken frame dwarfed by the massive bed. "It's about damn time. I was beginning to think you’d never come."

 

"Yeah, well." Ryan shut the door behind him, shrugging. "It's been rough." He meandered over to Geoff's side, white-knuckling the mug in his hand. "Sorry I didn't come sooner."

 

Geoff waved off his apology, his eyes darting to the object Ryan carried. "Is that your way of apologizing?"

 

Ryan gave a mirthless chuckle. "Of sorts." It held more truth than Geoff knew. Ryan offered the mug to Geoff, who took it with an amused glint in his eyes. He could see how his king's hands trembled with the exertion. Ryan's heart ached seeing Geoff looking so fragile. The dark green of the sheets gave his pale skin an eerie glow. Dark patches under his eyes made him look older than he was. "I figured one couldn't hurt. As long as you don’t tell Jack."

 

"He keeps trying to tell me it's 'not good' for my health. Can you believe that?" Geoff gave an indignant snort. "Been living like this for years and I'm not dead yet."

 

A troubled grin tugged at Ryan's lips as Geoff took his first swig. "Yeah. And hopefully not for a while, either."

 

Geoff hummed in response, reaching out to shakily set the half-empty mug aside. Ryan watched patiently as Geoff settled back against the pillows, his steady gaze easily boring into Ryan. "I know it was you."

 

Ryan's blood ran cold. His brain fumbled trying to form a coherent sentence. "I—I don't follow."

 

"Please, Ryan." Geoff rolled his eyes. His exasperation was evident in the way he looked at Ryan. "I know you poisoned me."

 

Dismay immediately flooded him, and his anxiety skyrocketed. He had done everything in his power to prevent the others from discovering him, occupying so much of his time with them that he didn't bother to account for Geoff himself. It never occurred to him to think that the king would somehow see right through him, but as he thought about it, he realized Geoff was the only one who could.

 

"You wanna know how I knew?" Geoff's voice was even. He wasn't angry. Ryan could hear it in the way he spoke. "You wanna know why I'm so sure it was you?"

 

Ryan doesn't remember if he nodded. He was paralyzed by fear and his body wouldn't obey his commands.

 

Geoff continued, "I know you, Ryan. And I know the others, too. You're the only one who'd even _consider_ something so elaborate, let alone implement it." Ryan maintained steady eye contact with him. It was pointless to say anything. "And I understand why you did it."

 

His voice came back to him then, sounding almost as broken as he felt. "—you're not angry?" A staggering rush of emotion brought Ryan to his knees. He hit the floor with a painful _thump_. Azure eyes were trained on the wooden surface, though he didn't need to look up to know that Geoff was staring directly at him, patiently waiting for Ryan to finish. "How can you not be _angry_ —" The words died on his tongue as he choked back a sob. "I tried to _kill_ you, and you're not even _upset!_ " The slam of his fist on the hardwood floor emphasized the word. "You should be _livid_. You—you should have me exiled. You should sentence me to rot for eternity in solitude. You should—"

 

A pause. Tension crackled like lightning in the air as Ryan’s sobs twisted, distorting into a great and malevolent cackle. Shoulders heaving at the force of it, Ryan rose to his feet. The once devious and clever light that shone in his eyes was replaced with the unadulterated mania that claimed Ryan’s conscience for its own. His stare would kill anyone before he even reached for his weapon, generating an influx of horror to pierce the heart of whomever he turned his frightful gaze upon and send them running to the hills. His smile was wicked, still possessing the same charm that could lure in easy prey and make of meal out of their agony. Ryan the Relentless had fallen victim to the unbearable grief and died within his own mind.

 

In his place stood Ryan the Mad.

 

Geoff still wasn’t afraid.

 

He was _disappointed_.

 

“Ryan, dude.” Geoff sounded utterly defeated. “What happened to you?”

 

“Why don't you tell me, Geoff?” Ryan was smirking. “Since you seem to know everything.” Leaning over the bed, he loomed over Geoff’s shrunken frame to whisper in his ear. “I should have killed you from the start.”

 

Shivers ran down Geoff’s spine despite his efforts to remain stoic. Turning on his heel, Ryan advanced towards the door. Within hours, Geoff would feel the effects of the toxin currently running rampant within him. Within days, he would die.

 

The exit was mere feet away. Ryan had his arm outstretched, meaning to take his leave when Geoff’s voice stopped him.

 

“Madness is not victory, Ryan. It’s a substitute for grief.”

 

A moment passed where the hysteria in Ryan’s eyes fled. Replacing it: humanity. For a brief moment, he was overwhelmed with an emotional tidal wave: despondency, worry, frustration, panic. It all consumed him. All in one moment, he remembered how to feel again. He remembered Jack’s laughter, bellowing and true. He remembered Gavin and Michael and the trouble they would always find themselves in. He remembered Ray, laugh lines and all, so young and brilliant and _alive_. Geoff, too, with his infectious laugh, dazzling smile, and the fondness he felt for them all. It all passed in one swift, brief second. It was the first moment of ease he had felt in far too long.

 

All moments pass far too quickly.

 

The door slammed shut, bookcase pushed back into its place. If Ryan walked away now, continued down the path he walked, it would be over. If he stayed, however, and returned to Geoff’s side, with apologies and promises to get him help at the ready, there would still be a chance that he could put an end to the game, so everyone could go back to the way it was.

 

Ryan gave the bookcase a final once over before he made his decision.

 

He left the room.

 

It would be the last time he would speak to the man he once fondly regarded as his friend.

 

From within the chambers, Geoff laid still on the bed. His gaze was fixed on the door, pleading for it to open again and reveal the face of his friend, begging for Geoff to forgive him. He waited, the interminable silence deafening in that moment of truth. His heart implored Ryan to return, to see reason. Even when the bookcase was slid back to its original position, Geoff still hoped.

 

Somewhere in the recesses of Ryan's mind, he knew a piece of humanity remained. A part of Ryan's self still remained intact, and Geoff held firmly to that belief. Inwardly, he pleaded for Ryan to rethink his actions, but ultimately, Geoff knew he was a lost cause. _Come on, dammit. Don't do this to yourself._ Tears welled in his eyes with the finality he heard at the faint click of the second door. His heart, so filled with hope and faith, sunk to the pit of his stomach. "Ryan," Geoff muttered. His voice boomed in the small room despite speaking barely above a whisper. "What have I done to you?"

 

* * *

 

After an hour of aimlessly wandering the castle, Ryan returned to the barracks. He laid on the floor of his room, the chill of the wood seeping into his bones and turning his blood to ice. In his hand, he gripped a knife. He idly carved uneven lines and arbitrary shapes into the bed frame, the scraping of metal upon wood the only sound permeating the room. Echoing in his ears were the words last spoken by Geoff. _It's a substitute for grief_ , he had said. In a way, it was true. Ryan's mind was much clearer than it had been in what he thought was ages as opposed to the interminable overwhelming thoughts clashing with memories of the dead in a whirlpool of noise. Ryan was astounded at how he managed to think through all the uproar. His supposed 'madness' was a distraction, tempting Ryan to focus on it than his own despair.

 

The mess of lines began to form a letter. The jagged outline of an 'R' defaced the smooth wooden surface, followed by two more letters. Ryan continued engraving words into the bed frame, splinters of wood falling in showers to the floor. A phrase was spelled out slowly, meticulously etched by Ryan's hand. When he was finished, the knife fell with a clatter, and the phrase read: _Ray I'm sorry_. Below it, another cluster of words stood out. _A substitute for grief_ was chiseled under Ryan's carefully embossed apology. He took less care when carving those words, as the letters were irregular and almost illegible compared to the first scarring above it.

 

For a while he laid there, staring absently at the words jumping out at him. It wasn't until he heard someone kneel beside him that he tore his gaze away from his work.

 

The outline of Ray's frame stood out in the flickering torchlight. Even in the dim glow the torch cast upon the room, Ryan could make out Ray's more-dishevelled-than-usual appearance. His hair was unkempt, sticking up every which way. His cloak sat crookedly on his shoulders, the brooch keeping it straight missing. Dark circles below his eyes showed how exhausted he was. It was an imitation of how Ryan himself looked: drained, disorderly, weak. It never occurred to Ryan that spiritual anomalies were incapable of becoming so haggard in appearance. At that point, he'd forgotten that the Ray he regularly conversed with was a ghost. He was as real as the setting sun, in Ryan’s eyes.

 

With a muffled grunt, Ryan sat up to face him. "What happened to you?"

 

"Hold out your hand," was the answer Ryan received.

 

A quizzical expression appeared on Ryan's face, but he complied regardless. "What's this about, Ray?"

 

Ray didn't answer. Instead, he held out his own hand, dropping something into Ryan's palm. "Take it," he said. The request was full of earnest. "Think of it as, uh. Y'know, as a promise, or something."

 

Ryan turned the object over in his hand. Ray's missing brooch glinted in the faint orange glow of the torch. With an eyebrow raised, Ryan looked up at his friend. "You sure? I mean, isn't this—y'know. Really important to you?"

 

A few moons ago, Ray had explained to him the significance of the rose clasp securing his red cloak around his shoulders. The simple yet elegant flower adorned his attire at all times. (Ryan couldn't recall ever seeing him without it.) It was a family heirloom of sorts, Ray had told them. His mother had given it to him when he was old enough to leave the house. She told him it was for luck, wishing him the best as he set out to the beauteous Ramsey Kingdom in hopes of making a name for himself. He'd kept the brooch safe in a sack until he got his hands on a ragged old cloak, where he then used the brooch to keep it straight on his shoulders.

 

Ryan couldn't believe Ray was just giving it away.

 

"Yeah, well." Ray shrugged, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "I want you to have it. For luck."

 

Ryan gave an easy smile. It was an odd feeling he hadn't experienced in ages. "Thank you." He removed his own clasp from his cloak, attaching Ray's rose brooch in its place. "How does it look?"

 

Ray gave him a thumbs up. "Lookin’ sharp."

 

Ryan nodded, offering his first brooch to Ray. "Here. We'll trade."

 

"Sounds alright to me." Ray fastened the clasp to his cloak. "It's nice knowing this thing won't fall off my shoulders all the time."

 

Ryan allowed himself a little chuckle. The pair sat together, chatting for ages about everything other than life at the palace. He felt himself at ease talking to Ray. He felt more human. Geoff was completely forgotten for the time being, and Ryan pinned it to coincidence that Ray didn't seem to acknowledge their king's existence, either.

 

Only until there was a lull in the conversation was Ryan spurred to bring up Geoff’s successor. "He can't be king, Ray. Michael cannot be king."

 

A shadow fell over Ray's face. "What're you gonna do about it, then?"

 

A renewed sense of confidence hit him, and Ryan raised his voice so that it reverberated throughout the room. "I'm going to replace him."

 

Ryan stood up, repeating the phrase in a quieter tone as if convincing himself of the statement. “I’m going to replace him.”

 

Ray shimmered out of sight, along with the rose brooch adorning Ryan’s attire, leaving the shining object of Ryan’s own clasp on the floor, untouched.

  
Ryan didn't even notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's losing his damn mind. My baby.
> 
> God, I love ghost Ray so damn much. Writing interactions between him and Ryan are so fun.
> 
> Our songs for this chapter are:  
> [Luna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUbWPrWMaRo&index=12&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E) and [Anyone but You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTmGXtUrPwI&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E&index=21).
> 
> The team song of the week is for the Lads. And this one is: [Rise of the Fallen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASovaQq2uhQ)
> 
> Plus, character songs! [Lumina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcBosWg1UfA) and [Sacrifice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JHZeR6Yofo&index=11&list=PL1CDC4E5B01F73E44) are for Ray. His influence is becoming so much stronger over Ryan, so I thought it appropriate we shared his songs this time.


	9. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. There's only one part left after this chapter. And, Sapph and I have a little surprise for you all who enjoyed this as much as we did, but I won't say until the end of this fic. Heheh.
> 
> Enjoy!

The morning following the return of Geoff's illness, Jack came to him and said he had less than three days left. There was no stopping the toxin as it slowly destroyed the king's nervous system, locking him in a one-sided battle between life and death. There was no hope in saving their beloved friend any more. It crumbled, going up in the flames of reality and turning it all to ash that rained down on the palace, blanketing the kingdom in despair. Despite the attempts to keep news about the king's status hushed, word was beginning to spread, and soon the entire kingdom would be faced with the tragic revelation that the man once regarded as a god would not walk away from what would soon be called his last battle. The infallible King Ramsey would be no more.

Geoff’s death didn’t spark any sense of remorse within Ryan. He had become resistant to such an emotion after experiencing the grief that followed the trauma of losing a good friend. The decision to ultimately kill Geoff solidified Ryan’s intentions, and no amount of willpower or apologies would right his wrongs, reverse the effects of the blight, or even save Geoff. None of it sparked even a hint of regret in Ryan's heart. No, instead he felt a giddy sense of elation bubbling inside him. The thrill of it gave him chills whenever he let his thoughts wander to the image of Geoff helplessly lying in his bed, his eyes wide in a silent plea for Ryan to come to his senses. A shiver ran down Ryan's spine. Being in control was enthralling.

Alienating himself from his friends didn't bother him, either. He found that the more distance he created between them, the more often Ray appeared to him. He had become such a prevalent figure in Ryan's mind that he consciously sought out his company. He had no reason to fear rejection in Ray's presence, knowing already how passionate Ray was about Ryan taking over as king. He could almost say Ray provided him with a sense of solace in a time where death was such a predominant element in their lives.

Not that he feared death. He wasn't exactly keen on the idea, but it was a lie to say that he feared it. _"Don't fear the inevitable,"_ he had once been told. _"Fearing the inevitable is cowardice. Fearing the possibilities? That's cunning."_

The words once spoken by Lord Edgar the Great still remained with him even years after leaving behind a long forgotten kingdom he once called home. When his father passed and his training to become a knight was put to a standstill, it was Lord Edgar that offered to complete Ryan's training. The ruthless stranger was held in high esteem by his Majesty for his innumerable victories in battle and was even named the king's personal advisor not long after he arrived.

Ryan hated him.

Many admired his achievements and were captivated by his charm, but there were few who remained that grew skeptical of Lord Edgar's presence. When those skeptics heard that he had taken Lord Haywood's son under his wing, they feared the young boy would follow Edgar down the path of brutality and merciless judgment rather than maintain his father's just heart and sound mind. However, Lord Haywood's only son surprised everyone when he disappeared following his knighthood ceremony, fleeing into the night without giving any reason as to why. Before the ceremony began and her son was dubbed a knight, Ryan’s dear mother discovered a scrapped piece of parchment on the dining table stating only that he would be leaving that night and for her not to breathe a word of his intentions. In his hastily written scrawl, he blessed her with well wishes and offered an apology but nothing more. She spoke naught about her son’s leaving and feigned ignorance when she saw him riding on horseback to the fields, taking with him only the knowledge Edgar the Great forced upon him.

The knowledge he previously loathed became the knowledge he now desperately sought. Fearing every possible outcome his plan could have would give Ryan the opportunity to account for every scenario. He would be one step ahead of them no matter what move they made. Absently, he thought about how proud his actions would make Edgar. The apprentice once regarded as a traitor would become his most prized creation. His methods of well-aimed destruction provided Ryan with all the knowledge, all the _cunning_ he needed to claim his place on the throne.

All he needed to do was implement it.

Ryan scoured the palace for Ray, eager to share with him his already thought out plan for removing Michael from the throne. It was unlike Ray to disappear without warning. While he wasn't worried, he still didn't feel comfortable without Ray's presence near him. Ryan felt vulnerable.

He was ready to give up when Ray's figure cut around the corner. Ryan called for him, but the outline of his friend retreated down the corridor and disappeared from Ryan's sight.

"Ray!" Ryan let out a disgruntled sigh and followed him. Ray was avoiding him, and it put Ryan off. He was wasting time chasing him down, but Ryan desperately needed his company.

The corridor led him to the throne room. Ray's reason for setting foot in that room again piqued Ryan's interest enough for him to open the door and step inside. The creaking of the wood brought two pairs of eyes looking in his direction.

Michael's relieved voice met his ears, and he decided to just play it casual. Maybe he would inquire about Ray.

Michael's growing worry and pressing inquiries, coupled with Gavin's scrutinizing gaze, were setting Ryan on edge. It almost reached the point where the tension was unbearable until Ryan, throwing caution to the wind at that moment, mentioned Ray.

“Where did he go?”

Michael’s shock and shaky reply went ignored by Ryan, who glanced around the room hoping by chance he would catch sight of Ray again.

“He was right here!”

Michael’s insistence that Ray was dead ignited a fury in Ryan. His friend wasn’t _dead_. Ray had always been with him, offering support when he needed it. He was always there with words of encouragement or a joke to pull Ryan out of his rut. He was there when Ryan finally towered over his grief and conquered it. Ray was _always_ there for Ryan.

_As real as the setting sun..._

But, Michael didn’t relent. His accusations were infuriating, and Ryan was struggling to maintain control.

With Michael’s last rebuttal, Ryan snapped.

He drew his longsword with an agonized cry, lashing out at the warrior with one swift motion.

Michael’s choked sounds were muffled by the terrified shriek and immense crack of Jack’s desk splitting in two as Gavin watched the scene unfold. The warrior, once regarded as Mogar, collapsed against Ryan as blood poured from the wound in his throat. The substance was free-flowing, staining Ryan’s front a dark crimson.

Frozen by panic and fear, Ryan did nothing as Michael slipped to the floor. He grabbed at the maroon cloak for purchase, but his grasp was too weak; he couldn’t pull himself up nor bring Ryan down.

The great palace warrior fell in a heap at Ryan’s feet, and Ryan couldn’t even move an inch, so petrified by his actions he was.

The scream that ripped from Michael’s chest tore a similar one from Ryan. In a rush, his anger consumed him and was expelled in that single animalistic cry. He was blind to the scene before him of Gavin imploring Michael’s unmoving body to stay, to live and breathe once more.

Silence fell, only to be broken by the clattering of Ryan’s weapon on the floor. Michael’s life pooled at his feet in a maroon haze. Not even the smell of it bothered him any more. The stench wafted and assaulted his nostrils, but he remained unfazed. Laughter bubbled from within, escaping his lips in a manic cackle as he reached down to the floor, gripping the golden headpiece that had fallen from Michael’s head and placing it atop his own. Red prints dotted the surface where his bloodstained fingers held it.

“I’m taking it.”

Gavin was horrified, and an eerie sense of elation filled Ryan at the sight of the young jester cradling his dead companion to his chest.

Yes, the throne was his for the taking. He could finally take the oncoming war into his own hands. Though his plan to claim the crown went a little astray, it didn’t matter to him. He won. He was finally in control.

Gavin’s distressed outburst of _“you murderer!”_ only pulled a sigh from the new king.

“I had my reasons.”

Ryan repeated the statement over and over, slowly assuring himself that his actions could be justified. Indeed, he did have his reasons. All he ever wanted was to protect the land he called home.

As king, he would bring peace once more.

He would be a hero.

* * *

 

The new king had announced his reign and Captain Kerry’s knighthood in a joint declaration the day following King Michael’s “untimely” death. The king offered no information regarding the cause of the great loss, but assured all that he would bring upon them a time of peace and plenty. (There were whispers after the announcement in regards to King Ryan’s sanity. Many were surprised at how easily he slipped into the role, but even less noticed the reds spots along the crown’s surface, blaming their imaginations upon seeing them.)

Ryan felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction from formally declaring his rule. He, accompanied by Kerry, returned to the throne room with a content smile gracing his features.

“Sir,” Kerry spoke up. “Might I inquire as to why you are so, well—happy? I mean, not that you shouldn’t be. It’s just—one of your friends passed the other day, and I had assumed you’d be—”

“—be what? Grieving? Kerry, my boy,” Ryan put a hand on the young knight’s shoulder. “If I’ve learned anything about grief these past few weeks, it’s that—in excess—it can drive a person to do terrible, _terrible_ things.” A smile curled his lips. “A little is alright, but you need to know how to properly deal with it.”

Kerry nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir.”

Ryan grinned. “Good boy.”

The creak of the doors caught Ryan’s attention. His gaze travelled to the man standing in the doorway, the fatherly guise he briefly put on morphing into his king persona.

Kerry followed his gaze. Jack, the king’s steward, stood at the door.

“I’m not interrupting anything,” Jack began. The malice in his voice went over Kerry’s head. “—am I?”

The knight turned to his king as he spoke. “Sir, shall I leave?”

There was a brief pause that had Kerry believe his king hadn’t heard him. He was about to repeat the inquiry when Ryan stopped him.

“Yes, Knight. You may go.”

With a hesitant nod and a fleeting glance at the steward, Kerry departed, leaving his king and Jack alone.

Jack waited until the sound of Kerry’s retreating footsteps silenced before he spoke. “Your Majesty,” he began. There was no sense of gratitude or respect in the way Jack addressed him. “I was hoping to talk with you... _freely_ , if you will hear it?”

A lazy smirk tugged at the corners of Ryan’s mouth. “Of course, Jack.” He sat on the plush of the throne. His attempts at appearing casual were lost on the man before him. “We’re friends, are we not?”

Jack contained a bitter retort, blatantly ignoring the question and slowly approaching the throne. “It’s about you, Your Highness.”

“Oh?” Ryan leaned forward in his seat, eyebrow quirked in mock interest. “What have you to say about me, my dear friend?”

The word seemed almost sour coming from the king. It made Jack cringe upon hearing it. “I merely wanted to convey my feelings about you becoming king.” He waited for Ryan to interrupt, but it never came. He continued, “I don’t feel it was necessary to blatantly ignore my _and_ Geoff’s rulings by _killing_ Michael. I understand the things you went through because I experienced them, as well. Everyone did, but you, for a reason I have yet to place, were affected much more severely than the rest of us.

“Ray’s death took a toll on everyone. And let me be the first to say that I apologize for not being there for you when you needed someone. I had no idea the demons you were fighting had such a strong influence on you.”

Jack watched as Ryan nodded along with his words. He noticed the shadow falling over him when Ray was mentioned, almost like Ryan was shutting down at the mere thought of him.

“But, I still think your grief is not a justifiable reason for murder.”

Jack trailed off then, waiting for Ryan to do something, _anything_ to break the silence that drove the steward up the wall with how infuriating it was. He hadn’t come to express his opinion on the matter just to receive silence as a response. If necessary, he wouldn’t move from his spot until Ryan acknowledged him.

Jack flinched at the dark chuckle that Ryan let out. “You have no idea, do you?”

The puzzled expression Jack portrayed spurred the king on. “I had this whole thing planned. Geoff falling ill was my doing. Ray—” A moment passed where Ryan’s heart ached at the memory, but it was a moment all the same. “Ray’s death was never supposed to happen. It was supposed to end with him. He would take the throne, and I would guide him to greatness, stopping a war that would bring the kingdom to ruin. He wanted help and I was willing to provide it.

“Then I found him in his room, sitting in his own blood, just waiting for the right moment to finally let go.” Ryan swallowed audibly. “I had no idea he was so close to giving up. I thought I had talked sense into him. Apparently, I’m not always right.”

Jack gave his attention thoroughly, listening to every word spoken by such a broken man. Never did he expect any of it from Ryan. Strong-willed, determined, Ryan.

It was almost poetic.

Ryan went on with a sigh. “I’ve accepted that it was my fault. I’ve come to terms with it, and when I did, he came back.”

Jack couldn’t hold himself back. “Who came back, Ryan?”

Cold azure eyes looked at him as if he were mad. “Ray did. He came back, and he said he was with me. He supported me throughout everything when I knew no one else would.”

Jack found himself unable to breathe. He understood Ryan was grieving, but to hear he was hallucinating Ray’s ghost struck him a hard blow. He’d been so caught up with trying to make Geoff comfortable that he shut himself out to all that was happening with his friends.

“Michael dying was an accident. Killing him was not the intention I had. I was enraged with him when he tried to convince me Ray was gone, and I just...lashed out at him.”

Ryan’s eyes grew wide, and it appeared to Jack that the revelation was the first time he had experienced it.

“It was a mistake,” Ryan admitted. “But, it got me here. I can finally put an end to this—this _madness_. Jack,” Ryan’s eyes lit up. “It will all be over.”

Jack was astonished. For so long, Ryan had been living in another reality fabricated out of his own anguish and hatred, and Jack had no idea. He had been blind to his friend’s descent into mania, and as he was faced with it, a mighty blow was dealt to his heart.

“Ryan…” Jack spoke slowly, willing his voice not to crack. “You can’t do this to yourself. You’re going to get hurt. You’ll get others hurt. This needs to stop.”

The light in Ryan’s eyes fled. Replacing it was fire, hot and alive with fury. “I understand you advise me on decisions that benefit the kingdom, Jack, but it sounds like you’re questioning my authority.”

“Tell me something, then.” Jack steeled himself. He wasn’t afraid; he couldn’t afford to fear Ryan, the man who could kill him with just a glare. “Where’s Ray?”

Jack could see by the clench of Ryan’s jaw that he had him. The edge over their new king was a ghost.

“Well?” Jack glanced around the room. “Where is he, Ryan? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“He’s here,” Ryan grit out. He balled his hands into fists in his lap. “He _is_ here. He _has_ to be here.”

“Are you saying you don’t know where he is?”

Overstepping boundaries wasn’t a philosophy Jack lived by, but he would do so if he thought it would benefit someone.

He just hoped Ryan had enough sense to listen.

“Where is he, Ryan? Did Ray finally realize how mad you are and leave you?”

“That’s _enough_.”

The sharp edge Ryan’s voice held made Jack flinch at its intensity.

“ _Leave_.”

Jack remained where he stood. He was unable to judge how well his taunting affected Ryan, his hardened stare and closed expression had made reading him impossible.

“I said, _leave_ , Jack. And do not set foot in this room unless your presence is _requested_.”

A mere nod sent Jack on his way. The door creaking filled the room for a moment as he stepped out of the room. Before he walked away, however, he turned back to the throne and offered one final sentiment.

“I regret to inform you that King Geoff passed away this afternoon, _Your Mercilessness._ ”

**  
**The door was eased shut, and Jack’s footsteps faded into oblivion, leaving a stunned Ryan sitting in silent contemplation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thrilling, isn't it? Watching these characters develop? I hope you all enjoy this as much as we do.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the late update. I was out all day and only returned home half an hour ago, heh.
> 
> And now, music!
> 
> Chapter song: [Battle of the Immortals](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=062t45r5_kU&index=9&list=PLJEQgytNXZW8fH2E0eylOJ6q3HwKiuQXV)  
> Team song: Team Crazy Mad — [Age of Gods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTjjEDY8MzY)  
> Character song: Gavin — [Riversong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKJqMnuzhFU) and [Fallen Tears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4XGEzTOfdY)


	10. Your greatest pains become your greatest strengths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part III and a day early update because I'm excited!
> 
> I think you guys will enjoy this one. It's a little shorter than usual, but you'll also be reacquainted with a character you haven't seen much of lately.
> 
> Hooray for positives!

**Part III**

_**“For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”** _

W.B. Yates

 

Jack trudged down the corridor. His heavy steps echoed off the stone walls. Thoughts swirled in a whirlpool in his mind, raising questions that he desperately needed answers to. What would become of Ryan? How would he continue to serve the king if the king refused to see him? Would he ever be able to carry out Geoff’s dying request? All of them begged to be answered, but Jack had no idea how to even begin to solve their hidden riddle. He was lost, adrift in a sea of helplessness and doomed to drown.

 

He found himself in his room, standing before the bookshelf concealing Geoff within. Absently, he pushed it aside, revealing the final barrier between him and the lifeless body of his king.

 

With a heavy heart, Jack opened the door.

 

In his mind, he expected the rasping voice of Geoff to call out with a simple gleeful _“Jack!”_ as he stepped into the room. Jack would only roll his eyes and force Geoff to lie back down when he attempted to stand up on his own.

 

Silence greeted him instead.

 

Jack heaved a sigh, shutting the door behind him. The scene before him of Geoff lying curled on his side tugged at his heart. What he wanted most was to leave, to give Geoff a few final moments of peace.

 

But, he still had work to do.

 

He approached Geoff’s bedside slowly, treading carefully as if trying not to rouse Geoff’s inert form. With the dark green covers tucked neatly around his shoulders, he certainly appeared to be asleep. Jack could easily peg his sickly expression to an illness completely unrelated to the poison running rampant through his system, but he knew better.

 

Reaching out, Jack gently eased Geoff onto his back, shoulders flush with the mattress’ padded surface. He rearranged the covers a bit, pulling them to Geoff’s chest and tucking them around him. He felt much like a parent tucking a child to bed.

 

Without giving it a second thought, Jack arranged Geoff’s hands so they laid on his chest, the right in a loose fist, and the left draped over top. They had long since run cold with the rest of Geoff’s body at his passing. The rough calluses that gave them such character remained, and Jack only wished they would hold life once more.

 

When Geoff was situated to his liking, Jack dragged a chair to his bedside and sat. His shoulders hunched upon immediate contact, head supported only by his hands. Silence rang in his ears, and he longed to hear Geoff’s howling laughter, or the amusing crack in his voice.

 

Neither came.

 

It felt wrong to speak and disturb the peace his king deserved, but any longer and the silence would drive Jack himself mad.

 

“You could have warned me about Ryan.”

 

Of course Geoff knew. Jack had no doubt about it that he would have figured out Ryan’s intentions. It was just like him.

 

“I had no idea. I was so busy trying to make you comfortable.” He managed to pull a chuckle out of himself. “I was doing my duty serving my king, but I wasn’t doing my duty to my friends.”

 

The bitter laugh that forced its way out of his throat surprised him, but he was beyond the point of caring. “I don’t know what to do. Ryan’s gone mad, Michael’s dead, Gavin disappeared again, and the one person to help guide me is gone.” He could feel tears threatening to spill. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed himself to keep his composure. He’d gone long without shedding a single tear, and he was determined to keep that up. “I just—” Jack choked down a sob. “I don’t know what I should do any more.”

 

Tears fell in a steady stream, leaving behind trails staining his cheeks only to be caught in a full ginger beard. “They’re dying, Geoff. Our friends are slipping, and I don’t know how to help them.”

 

Weeks of pent of anguish was expelled in the form of broken sobs, a melody woven out of pure despair. His chest heaved with the gulps of air he took, hoping to calm down enough to speak.

 

“It’s my job to make sure everything runs smoothly, but recently, it seems like I’ve been doing the complete opposite of that.”

 

Over the course of a few minutes, his sobs became muffled weeping. He took a moment to wipe away the collection of tears that accumulated on his spectacles, staring down at the blurry mess of the wood flooring.

 

“I really don’t think I can do this.”

 

He absently wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before bringing his glasses back to his face. He hadn’t noticed it before, but upon closer examination, Jack could see the faint curl of Geoff’s lips. The ghost of his charming smile remained perpetually with him. Not even lying cold and unmoving on his deathbed would prevent that. It was almost ethereal, Jack realized. So pure in the face of death.

 

Maybe there was hope after all.

 

Jack chuckled at the idea. “You son of a bitch,” he muttered. “You knew. You fucking knew, and you did that on purpose.” He started laughing, then. A full-blown, Jack-esque laugh, so bellowing and true. “I won’t see a note somewhere saying _‘surprise, motherfucker’_ anywhere, will I? If that’s the case, I’m gonna kick your ass when I see you again for getting out of bed when I told you not to.”

 

A smile found its way to Jack’s lips, despite the tears welling in his eyes once more. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.”

 

With a single nod, Jack stood. There was still the task of formally announcing the great king’s death, as well as the funeral service that followed it. He would have to arrange the burial soon. But, he didn’t want it to be like any other service. Geoff would surely disagree with an over the top ceremony, but Jack found it fitting if the king had a little more “special” funeral.

 

He already had an idea in mind.

 

It would be a small ceremony. Hardly anyone would be there to witness it. It would give Geoff the final moment of peace he deserved.

 

In Jack’s mind, it was perfect.

  
Geoff would think so, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's trope of being the only sane one really comes out in this, don't you think?
> 
> I went a little heavy on the Team OG in this part, but for good reason. Their friendship is something else, I tell ya.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter songs: [Our Farewell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RImCkWLiPIE) and [Love Her to the Death](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqTE9Rk7IOg)  
> Character songs: Jack — [Anima](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUaCPCAMa2Q&index=4&list=PLJEQgytNXZW-lFYbedkjFyCIZhYr2VM4S) and [Heaven's Legacy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKdn3xGCnsw)  
> Team song: Team OG — [Hymn to Eternity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Db4PCy_cFg8&list=PLJEQgytNXZW-lFYbedkjFyCIZhYr2VM4S&index=6)
> 
> What do you guys think of us including all the music? Does it help you get a feel for what's going on? Try reading while listening to the songs in the background and see how much of an impact they create.


	11. cogitatione et memoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me begin by saying that I'll spare you the trip to Google Translate for this chapter's title.
> 
> _"cogitatione et memoria"_ is Latin for _"thoughts and memories."_ Granted, it's a very rough translation, because neither of us speak or read Latin.

Gavin felt himself slipping. The mattress groaned under his weight as he shifted. Unable to find sleep, Gavin found instead that the tossing and turning only invited poisonous thoughts. Midnight's cold moonlight poured through the window, coating the room in an unearthly silver glow. The images blazed into his eyeballs, refusing to burn away the sight of the flames of crimson blood from his memory. He squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed, a name forming on his lips in his desperation.

 

"Mi—" He stopped himself with the revelation.

 

Michael was dead.

 

With a poorly stifled sob, Gavin threw an arm over his eyes. His heart ached furiously. Michael was dead. Ray was dead. Everyone was dead or dying and he couldn't do a _damn thing about it._

 

Gavin pulled the green covers to his chin, curling in on himself in hopes of just vanishing into the depths of his bed, into the floorboards, and out of the world itself. His eyes stared unfocused towards the whitewashed doorframe, ignoring the dust motes lazily drifting across his vision. He wasn’t expecting anyone to burst through with glad tidings. No. Those hopes and wishes had bled away in the bleaching moonlit hours.

 

He blinked slowly, his vision stained silver. His mind swirled with blackening thoughts, a whirlpool of monochrome. He felt himself slipping. His chest tightened at the prospect of it, and his throat responded in kind, chopping the lump forming behind spasmodic breaths. He felt himself drowning. There was no room to breathe under his bedsheets.

 

He cringed at the images replaying in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Michael’s weight in his arms, slowly turning cold with time. He couldn’t wash the blood off of his senses. The crimson stained his heart just as much as his body. He couldn’t unsee the unfocused brown eyes void of life staring back at him in fear. As much as he tried, he could not forget Michael. And his final breaths haunted him to the very last.

 

* * *

 

_“Come on, you moron!” Michael’s irritated voice echoed throughout the corridor. The lagging jester played off his lateness with a brilliant grin and bubbly laughter. “We’re going to be late if you don’t pick up the pace, asshole!”_

_“Michael!” Gavin’s desperate cry only pulled an eyeroll from the warrior. He slowed to a stop, breathing heavily from the strain. “I don’t think I can go any further like this. Go on without me.”_

_Melodramatics aside, the warrior found the situation humorous. Michael cracked a grin. “You’re worthless.” He backtracked, and in a few seconds, he had a squirming Gavin over his shoulder._

_“M-Micoo! Hey, wait a sec—!” His golden boots jingled as he kicked hard._

_“Jesus, Gav, if you’ve got such strong legs, why don’t you actually run instead of having me carry you?” Michael growled playfully as he jogged down the hall, ignoring the bewildered expressions on the guards’ faces as they passed._

_“I can run! Just not as fast as you.”_

_“God, your whining is annoying, Gavin,” Michael teased. “And those piss boots of yours are right ugly.”_

_“Ah, shut it, you prick. You’re the one who gave them to me.”_

_The duo shared a moment of laughter as Michael shoved the door open with too much flair. Embarrassment quickly flooded Gavin’s senses as he found himself facing a crowd of festive fairgoers, rear first._

_“Michael, put me down!” He screeched. Mogar only rolled his eyes with a chuckle._

_“You’re only attracting more attention, dumbass.” He tightened his grip on his friend and began navigating through the crowds, completely ignoring a totally red faced Gavin and his squeaking demands to put him on the ground. Michael granted his wishes after he had pushed through several groups of young, giggling maidens, dumping the poor fool in an ungraceful heap in the grass._

_“Wow, you sure do complain a lot.” Michael snickered as he watched his close friend pull himself together, picking dried grass from various crevices in the bright green jester’s outfit. Gavin shot a glare in his direction, pulling a laugh from the warrior’s lips. Michaels reached over and hooked his arm around Gavin’s neck, yanking him close._

_Gavin felt a grin threaten to overtake the scowl that he preferred to be present at that moment. But he couldn’t find it in himself to continue being mad at the grinning warrior._

_“Come on, slowpoke, we’ve got places to be!” Michael said as he pulled Gavin forward with him._

_“Don’t you think I know that?” Gavin protested. “Geoff asked for our presence a while ago.”_

_“Hey, it’s your fault we’re late.”_

_“‘tis not!”_

_“‘tis so! Scout’s honor or some shit like that.”_

_“You liar!” Gavin scoffed._

_“Hey, not my fault the ladies love me.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“Hey, I can’t help that I’m adorable,” Michael ruffled Gavin’s hair as laughter rang through the air. “But seriously. It was all you taking your leisurely time, mister ‘oi can’t wear my uniform right! Bugger me!’”_

_“That’s not what I sound like!” Gavin snorted at Michael’s over exaggerated impression of his accent._

_“Sure is. Ask anyone. I’m sure good King Geoff would agree.”_

_“Agree to what?” Both boys stuttered to a halt as their king’s voice interrupted their banter from above. Geoff raised a puzzled eyebrow at the duo. “Unless I was drunk I don’t think I’ve agreed to anything today, have I, Jack?”_

_The steward heaved a sigh and shook his head. “No, Geoff. You’ve refused to sign those stupid papers this morning. You know, if you really want that capital city built, you need to sign the damn papers!”_

_Geoff snorted indignantly. “Hey, Achievement City is more than just a capital, Jack.”_

_“Achievement City, Geoff?”_

_“What? It sounds awesome! Rolls off the tongue smoothly."_

_Jack sighed once more and shook his head as Geoff regarded him with lackadaisical frown at his Hand’s disapproval. Michael cleared his throat and presented forth Gavin with a flourish of his hand._

_“One Gavin Free, awake and ready for your enjoyment.”_

_“Good morning, Geoff!” Gavin greeted him with a grin._

_“Good morning, Gavin.”_

_“And good morning Michael,” Michael huffed sarcastically. “Now we’ve determined what kind of day it is, what’s the plan for today?”_

_“Plan G,” Gavin stated in a lofty tone, “is something awesome and cannot be shared with dumb doughnuts like you.”_

_“Woah, hey now—”_

_“Just kidding! Geoff just wants us to bring back something for him.” Gavin refuted Michael’s protests with an easy smile._

_“What do you wish, my liege?”_

_“I want you to bring me back the Tower of Pimps.”_

_“Say what now?”_

_Geoff responded with a bark of laughter and a wide grin. “Go on the scavenger hunt, dumbasses. It’ll be fun, trust me.”_

 

Gavin blinked away the memory with an ache resounding in his chest. Michael was dead now. It hurt to think of how alive he had been, how vibrant and full of laughter and rage. Gavin felt a twist in his throat at the memory of how full of emotion Michael had been. They had been like brothers, inseparable and interdependent of each other. But all that ended with a single slash of a cold diamond sword. There would be no more silly quests and shenanigans. There was nothing. Gavin pulled the covers around himself even tighter with a tired whimper and exhaustion overcame him in finality. The night stole him away into a blissful dreamless sleep instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was happy, and then it wasn't. I'm so sorry.
> 
> This chapter hurts my heart.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter songs: [You and I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvM8GYj3u4Q) and [When Love Fails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nL6uXjnrGlA&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E&index=8)  
> Character songs: Michael — [Dance with Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eV1xumzX8dE) and [Heart of Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4BFRYoVtIg)  
> Team song: Team Nice Dynamite — [Eternal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eT9w-txfXw&index=19&list=PL1CDC4E5B01F73E44)


	12. Pain will leave you when you let go

A harsh wind from the south didn’t heed the man’s progress as he cradled a bundle in his arms, following a stone path into the dark of the forest that lay before the kingdom. He had taken every precaution, the fear of detection still present even as a calm silence resided over the lands. He had even brought with him a sword glowing a dull blue should he encounter one of the creatures that lurked within the shadows. Though he preferred the weight of his smithing hammer on his belt, he knew the effectiveness of the blade would suit him much better in combat.

 

Another breeze sent a chill down Jack’s spine. He held the bundle in his arms tighter upon instinct, praying that he was soon reaching his intended destination.

 

In his arms, he carried the body of Geoff, clad in the forest green bedcovers he had laid in during his last few months, though they appeared gray in the moonlight. It was the night of his passing. Jack didn’t want his king waiting any longer.

 

Stray leaves crunched under his booted feet, the only sound accompanying the rustling of the foliage in the cool night air. It created a symphony of nature that Jack found himself enjoying. It was the kind of peace perfectly suitable for a king’s final rest.

 

Soon, a small clearing appeared, opening up to a wide circle of deciduous wood. The thick barrier the trees provided would make excellent cover for Geoff’s own private burial ceremony.

 

Lying Geoff’s green-clad body in the middle of the clearing, Jack pulled six candles, his flint and steel, and a few scraps of charcoal cloth from the worn leather satchel he brought with him. Setting the latter two aside, Jack began arranging the candles in a circle. Before he left, he had taken the time to carve one letter onto each of the candlesticks. A ‘G’ for Gavin and Geoff, an ‘R’ for both Ryan and Ray, ‘M’ for Michael, and a 'J' for himself. Five were placed around Geoff’s body, the sixth remained in Jack’s hand. His thumb absently traced over the ‘G’ he carefully etched into the wax in memory of Geoff as he stood back. Feeling satisfied with his work, Jack traded the candle for the flint and steel. With a few strikes, a small piece of the charcoal cloth began smoldering. Jack reached for it and carefully brought the growing flame to Geoff’s candle wick. Jack nursed the flame until it was of sufficient size before setting the cloth on the ground and stamping it out. He had to shield the flame from the wind, but he managed.

 

One by one, the candles were lit. Ray’s, Michael’s, Ryan’s, Gavin’s. Even Jack’s own, until six flames burned in the night. Gently, he placed Geoff’s candle adjacent the king’s head.

 

For a moment, Jack said nothing, taking in the somber memorial he created.

 

Then, he spoke.

 

“Tonight marks the end of King Geoffrey the First. His reign of prosperity will remain true even ages after the Ramsey name becomes a mere piece of history. Never shall we remember war upon looking back at the Ramsey era. He will forever be remembered as King Geoff the Great. May he finally be at peace.”

 

Only when he finished speaking did Jack notice the tears that managed to slip by unaware. He wiped them away quickly and added one final sentiment.

 

“Long live King Ramsey.”

 

Jack bowed his head, listening only to the rustling leaves whispering their condolences in his ear.

 

Before long, he was moving. He gathered a handful of the cloth, carefully scattering the pieces within the circle of candles. When they were all placed, Jack left for the nearest treeline. He didn’t return until his arms were full with enough dried sticks and twigs to craft half a dozen torches.

 

He laid them out, strategically placing them around Geoff until he was lying on a bed of leaves and twigs.

 

The candles were extinguished and gathered, eventually set aside in a pile for Jack to retrieve them later. Geoff’s was the only one to remain lit.

 

Jack picked it up. As he was reaching down for it, he pulled back the green bedspread enough until Geoff’s pale face was exposed to the fresh air and starlight. The smile was still there, and Jack found himself smiling fondly with him.

 

The wind picked up a bit and forced Jack to remain focused on his task. He squinted in the low light until he was able to pull a piece of the cloth up through the mess of sticks. Bringing the candle flame to the corner set it ablaze, and he repeated the process until a sustainable fire formed. The candle was blown out, and the rest of his supplies were gathered back into his satchel.

 

He sat mere feet away from the growing fire, where he remained for most of the night.

 

He would occasionally gather more tinder to feed the flames, piling more sticks and leaves onto it when necessary. But, when it reached a point where it became too large, he let it burn. Smoke billowed up into the air, black as the night itself until it dispersed into nothing. The blaze crackled and popped in the night air, adding its own tune to the melodic sounds the forest provided. Jack found himself dozing with the aid of the natural background track playing around him. It reminded him of the sleepless nights he’d spent in the forge countless times in the past.

 

With a yawn, Jack laid his head upon the satchel and drifted into oblivion.

 

* * *

 

_The unmistakable clanking of hammers upon anvils was music to the blacksmith's ears. What some called a mere cacophony of noise, Jack called a symphony. Each process, drawing, bending, upsetting, punching, created its own tune that was carried throughout the village on the gentle spring breeze. A melody of metal striking metal sung a sweet tune, spurring the blacksmith on with his work and giving him a renewed sense of passion. The sword he was in the process of finishing was crafted of the rarest substance the lands had to offer. Per the request of His Majesty himself, the diamond blade was to be crafted by the most skilled blacksmith in his kingdom. Jack was honored to be granted the pleasure of creating what would certainly become the king's most prized weapon._

_Soon, he would have made a sword fit for a king._

_All there was left was polishing the blade and fitting the grip. Jack figured he could manage the latter in the short amount of time he had. The King was due for arrival within the hour, having made it clear that he would come to Jack, despite the blacksmith's protests._

_With Jack's efficiency and skill, however, he had it completed in almost half the time._

_He was left then with a little time to add any last minute touches that he felt would suit the king's fancy. Intricate designs were embossed on the grip. Flames weaved around the Ramsey crest, symbolising the light and protection King Ramsey's reign brought forth. Jack took a moment admiring his work when a voice spoke behind him._

_"That certainly is one of your finer works, Jack."_

_Surprised as he was, Jack steeled himself enough to slowly turn and face the man behind him. He was met with a charming smile and such bright eyes that had him thinking he was in the presence of the sun itself._

_The man smirked. "Close your mouth or else bugs will nest."_

_"Oh! Uh." Immediately, Jack knelt down on one knee. "My apologies, Your Highness. I hadn't anticipated your arrival to be so soon."_

_His actions pulled a bellowing laugh from the king. "Seriously, man. Get up, you look ridiculous."_

_Jack was lost for words. He also apparently hadn't anticipated the completely casual way the king spoke. It was as if the two were already close friends._

_Slowly, he rose to his feet. The king's goofy smile pulled a hesitant one from Jack._

_"I, uh, suppose you've come for your sword?"_

_Jack presented the finished work. His right hand gripped the hilt, and the left cradled the blade. Its blue luminescent glow shone bright in the dim lighting of the forge. "It took a bit longer than I would normally like. But, I wanted it to be perfect."_

_Geoff took the blade with care, testing the balance and weight with a nod. "Excellent craftsmanship, as always. I've seen your work before and I gotta say that this is definitely one of the best."_

_Jack found himself giving an almost timid smile at the compliment. "Don't you think you're a bit biased, sir?"_

_He surprised himself with how casually he spoke, but judging by his king's grin, he was perfectly welcome to speak as such._

_"Maybe I am. And call me Geoff, alright?"_

_Jack nodded. "As you wish, Geoff."_

_"And this sword isn't the only reason why I'm here." Upon seeing the blacksmith's quizzical expression, Geoff continued. "I came to ask something big of you. You're free to decline, but I really hope you don't."_

_Lowering the blade to his side, Geoff finally met Jack's gaze. "I want you to be my Hand, Jack."_

_Jack found himself speechless at the offer. It was a tremendous honor for the king to make personal visits, but making such an important offer in person was almost unheard of. Jack almost felt obligated to say yes, even though he felt hardly qualified for such a position._

_"There's more to you than just smithing," Geoff went on. "I can see it in the way you look at people. You're very compassionate, you have a kind heart. I need someone like you by my side."_

_"I—" Jack fumbled for words. "I don't know what to say."_

_Geoff offered a reassuring smile. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. You'd be in good hands, I promise."_

_Jack nodded slowly. The shock was beginning to fade the more he thought about it. Geoff wasn't wrong when he said he was compassionate. It was true that he had a soft spot for helping people. Often, he'd do more laborious work for the older residents, and it didn't bother him when they approached with a request. He was always happy to help._

_"Well, I'll give you a day to think on it. If you accept, come by the castle and we'll discuss living arrangements and whatnot. Tell the guards who you are, and they'll give you no trouble."_

_Geoff smiled again, thanked him for the blade and departed._

_Jack was left unmoving where he stood._

_When the next day came, he found himself standing before the massive doors to the throne room. He was directed by one of the guards, who told him the king was awaiting his arrival._

_The thought almost made him giddy. He didn't want to keep him waiting any longer._

_Slowly, he pushed open the doors. The loud groan they gave upon opening told Jack how old they were, despite the details carved within the wood and recently restored appearance._

_Across the room sat Geoff, smiling from his plush seat at the man approaching him._

_"I knew you'd say yes."_

 

He woke to the rays of the early morning sun peeking through the breaks in the foliage, blinding him with its soft golden light and rousing him from his rest. The ghost of tears blurred his vision and forced him to rub them away. Adjacent to his impromptu bed laid a pile of smoldering ashes. The remains of his king and best friend.

 

Jack let out a sigh. He didn't want to linger in the past any longer than absolutely necessary.

 

He rose slowly to his feet, gripping the satchel in his hand. It was sure to have left an impression of some variation on his cheek, but he was far too weary to worry about it.

 

Turning his back, he slowly trudged back to the stone path that would lead him home. The wind would surely scatter the ashes far and wide, across kingdoms and valleys, maybe even across oceans to other nameless lands. They would drift far away from the kingdom that would slowly fall to ruin. They would be away from the mess King Ryan's reign would surely bring.

  
Jack would rest easy knowing he brought Geoff solitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't enough Jack love in the world.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter song: [Cry of the Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFFUFQhLXXU)  
> Character songs: Geoff — [Dark Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSY2RA_OqLE&index=13&list=PL1CDC4E5B01F73E44) and [King of the North](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vkwz2Bf2OVc&list=PLJEQgytNXZW8fH2E0eylOJ6q3HwKiuQXV&index=2)  
> Team song: Team Gents — [Winds of Freedom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTLEbErPl9I&list=PL29A5790D2C135496&index=8)


	13. ad te omnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Again!
> 
> Basically we said "fuck it! let's upload the whole thing!" and that's what we're doing.
> 
> Sapph's exact words were: "WE ARE THE AUTHORS. THE ALMIGHTY LORDS OF THIS STORY." So, yeah. That was the verdict. Christmas came early, folks!
> 
> Also, Latin! Again! The chapter title (roughly) translates to "to you all."
> 
> Enjoy!

_It was a joyous occasion. The castle was filled with even brighter cheer and festively decorated hallways than usual. Gavin grinned at the maids as they bustled by, cheerful expressions donning their fair faces. He paraded about the corridors, waving his outrageously ostentatious sleeves above his head. The jester’s outfit barely fit the small jester’s wiry frame. The elaborately embroidered sleeves flopped over his hands for being way too long for his arms. The oversized clothing only added to the comical appearance. But Gavin couldn’t find it in his heart to care. The only thing overflowing in his soul was great joy._

_Someone new was coming to the castle to stay._

_Gavin pranced down the hallway and thrust open the large oaken throne room doors with a smile. No one bothered to turn to him, but he didn’t care that his dramatic entrance wasn’t so dramatic. There were dozens of nobles with their wives scattered throughout the vast room. Today was a celebration that hadn’t taken place in several years. Not since the great Mogar had taken his place by Geoff’s side during Gavin’s eighteenth year. Gavin had since turned nineteen and was standing on the eve of his twentieth birthday. But all that didn’t matter to him. What mattered was to see the face of this wonderful prodigy that had somehow climbed his way to the top. He’d heard some strange rumors surrounding the stranger, but something in his heart told him that those rumors claiming he had spilt enough blood of noblemen to cut through their ranks to rise through were far from the truth. But he’d have to see for himself._

_Gavin slipped through the crowds and skirted the circle of dancers in their joyful laughter and cries. Years of practice had left Gavin without much trouble gaining access to the king’s throne where a mildly irritated Geoff sat twitching to twiddle his thumbs. He was clad in the richest cloak with heavy green velvet and a mane of long wolf fur. He looked moderately uncomfortable with it on overtop his formal robes. The king’s face brightened upon seeing the familiar fool, even stifling a cackle at the young man’s haphazard appearance._

_“Top o’ the evenin’ to you, Geoff!” Gavin greeted him with an over exaggerated bow which sent the king into a writhing mess of compulsive giggling._

_“Jesus fuck, Gavin, thank god you’re here.” Geoff said once he had managed to control the spasms of laughter. “I’ve been bored as dicks.”_

_“Geoff! Language!” Jack hissed from the behind the throne to the left, and Michael snickered from the right, covering it with a rough cough when Jack shot him a glare._

_“Yeah, yeah,” Geoff whined. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m tired of having to pretend to like these fucks.” With that statement, he stood. He rearranged the heavy cloak on his shoulders before clearing his throat. Immediately the guardsmen around the room stiffened as the king raised his hand, and, like magic, the simple gesture quelled the flowing music and elated chatter throughout the hall._

_“I’d like to thank you all for coming on this joyous occasion.” Geoff’s voice rang loud and clear, void of the usual cracks that often plagued him whenever he raised his voice. “Ray Narvaez Junior, come forth.”_

_Gavin perked up as the man’s name was called. Curiosity led his eyes to a short young man who was, surprisingly, not much younger than he. His dark hair stood stark against the brilliant red that flowed from his shoulders. The cloak looked a bit worse for wear, but it was obvious that this Ray had cared for it deeply._

_Geoff turned to Jack, and without a word passing from his lips, the blacksmith brought forth a blade which shone an ethereal blue glow and pressed it gently into the king’s waiting hands._

_“You have served well and right by the Ramsey name.” Ray knelt before the throne as Geoff stood above him, his voice echoing throughout the room. “May it be known that you shall henceforth carry that service with you always. I dub thee, Ray the Red Rose.”_

_The ceremony was finished with the blade barely touching each of Ray’s shoulders and the newly dubbed knight stood and faced the crowds, an unreadable expression concealing whatever the knight was feeling at the moment. There was applause and before long the noblemen were riding their fancy carriages home in the warmth of the summer night._

_It would be a few days before Gavin finally built up enough courage to approach the stranger._

_“Hello! I’m Gavin!” He’d approached him as Geoff was busy arguing with Jack over a particular piece of legislation._

_“I know.” Ray looked him over once before a cheeky grin broke out across his features. “Hi Vav!”_

_Confusion flooded his senses for a split second. “Vav?”_

_“Yeah, like ‘Gavin’ without the ‘in’ or the ‘g’ part.” It was the way he had said it that sprouted laughter from Gavin._

_“Sure, X-Ray!” They both snickered to themselves and thus began a friendship that would never die. He knew that, and they sealed the pact with a smile._

_“Except it did, didn’t it, Vav?” Gavin jumped at the chill breath that whistled past his ear. The candles flickered, and suddenly Gavin was alone. All alone with the growing darkness and a faint whisper in the wind._

_“You left me behind, Vav,” the voice purred. “I thought you weren’t going to leave a friend behind?”_

_Gavin jerked backwards, only to hear the faint splattering of liquid against stone. His mind told him not to turn around, that something terrible loomed behind him. But that voice floated around him, hissing accusations into his mind. He pressed the palms of his hands to his ears with a shrill cry of_ “Stop it!” _as he spun away._

_His heart choked at the sight that lied before him. Ray sat slumped over the throne, wide eyes staring into Gavin’s soul, glassy and all too dead. Blood dripped from his chest onto his lap. The crimson sin crept from the soaked cushion down the golden throne, leaving tiny trails of the red that Ray had loved so much. The droplets rained a slow, but steady, rhythm into the growing puddle at the knight’s feet. A crown lay crooked on the man’s head, droplets of the same blood sliding down onto Ray’s disheveled hair. An arm was thrown over the armrest, a knife hanging loosely from the long, pale fingers, caked in dried maroon. There was blood seeping from every pore of the body, oozing from the mouth, the nose, and his eyes dripped red tears._

_Gavin choked on the metallic stench wafting from the body. He felt his stomach heave, but he could not find the strength to look away from those eyes. He felt his own heart stop in absolute terror as a skeletal grin stared back at him as the mouth formed words he couldn’t hear, but already knew deep in his soul._

_“Why did you leave me, Gavin?”_

 

“Ray!” Gavin threw the tangled bedsheets aside in his frantic ascent into waking. He was drenched in a cold sweat, and his clothes stuck to his body in an uncomfortable manner. He heaved himself upright. He was breathing heavily, the air flooding to his lungs in uneven amounts. Hot tears fled from his wide eyes as he just sat there, rewatching the gruesome scene in his head. His body shivered violently. The body was burned into his mind so much so that the fear rose in his gut when he blinked to see the blood in his eyelids.

 

Gavin flopped back onto his bed, defeated. Poorly contained sobs ricocheted between the walls, an anthem of pure defeat and utter exhaustion.

 

He spent the day like that, curled in on himself. The food that the maid had left at his door sat untouched as he sank deeper into the darkness. The scarf entangled in his hands brought to his mind memories he rather wished would not resurface. Those moments in his life when everything had been spring and summer and bright turned to sour in his gut and cut into his eyes. The guilt shattered his muscles to the point where he could not lift his head from his despair. He swam in the regret that overwhelmed his senses.

  
Death and madness had stolen everything from him otherwise. His grief was all that was left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW WAS THAT FOR PAIN.
> 
> When I said "enjoy" earlier, I meant "enjoy the pain we'll undoubtedly inflict."
> 
> You're all welcome.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter song: [Memories](http://youtu.be/1qlHMQGcFtk)  
> Team song: X-Ray and Vav — [The Forgotten Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zieoCij53YE)


	14. For there is nothing heavier than compassion

Morning came and went its own slow pace. Jack's return home was drawing to an end as the afternoon rolled by. With the sun at its peak, its hot, golden rays shone upon the kingdom. Everyone moved in their own established rhythm. Jack allowed himself a sad smile. Seeing the town living in such blissful ignorance made Jack wish it was permanent. His heart longed for the people to continue as they were, still holding on to that single thread of hope that their king might still survive.

 

The dread of sharing the news of Geoff's death weighed heavily on him.

 

But, he knew it had to be done.

 

His only obstacle was the king.

 

Ryan’s refusal to see him, and general neglect to acknowledge Jack’s existence, proved more infuriating than Jack thought possible. He had a job to uphold, but Ryan was preventing it.

 

Jack contemplated repeating the same bold maneuver he made upon questioning Ryan’s actions, but he feared that another outburst would result in a more harsh and potentially bloody consequence than being banned from the throne room. Though he wasn’t afraid of Ryan per se, Ryan abruptly ordering his execution would leave Gavin alone.

 

It would go against Geoff’s last request.

 

_The room was cold. Colder than he remembered._

_“Is there a draft in here?” He wondered allowed. “How are you not freezing, Geoff?”_

_Then again, it could have been foreboding that chilled his bones._

_A weary sigh escaped passed Geoff’s lips. “It’s hot as hell in here, Jack. I couldn’t freeze if I rolled out in the snow.”_

_Jack flinched at the roughness in Geoff’s voice. He was getting worse. It wouldn’t be long before death claimed him._

_He shook the thought away. He was still shaken as a result of hearing about Michael’s death. He was told the former king’s sudden demise was the consequence of an assassin striking him down in his sleep. He might have believed it, if it weren’t for Ryan easily claiming the throne afterward. Jack had his suspicions about the knight ever since he shut himself in his room following Ray’s funeral._

_Only recently did Jack wish he kept a better eye on him._

_Idly, he wrung out a cloth before placing it on Geoff’s forehead. The sudden cold made him flinch, earning him an eye roll from Jack. “Don’t be so dramatic.”_

_“Then you fucking wear a cold as fuck rag on your head and see how you like it!”_

_Despite the colorful outburst, the retort sent Geoff into a rough coughing fit that had him curled on his side as he convulsed. In his weakened state, Jack feared that every one of the fits he had would be the last. He was already so pale, his frame so much smaller than it should have been. One more fit like that and Geoff would succumb to the icy grip of death._

_Jack knelt at his bedside, a strong hand rubbing circles on his back. “Don’t do this, Geoff. You can’t give up on me, not yet.”_

_He spoke as if there was even a remote possibility his friend would survive. Though, he knew Geoff’s chances, he still remained positive._

_Even faced with such a grim reality, Jack always remained hopeful._

_When Geoff composed himself, he was trembling. The green blanket he was draped in was clutched to his chest. “You sound like—” Geoff coughed again, grimacing at the discomfort. “—I'm gonna live through this.”_

_The smile Geoff wore struck Jack hard._

_“You and I both know that won’t happen,” Geoff continued. Jack wanted to argue, but he saw no value in fighting the impossible. “I’m gonna die, Jack.”_

_“Geoff,” Jack pleaded. He couldn’t bear hearing his friend sound so defeated. “Please, just—don’t talk like that.”_

_Geoff held out an unsteady hand. Jack gripped it gently, pulling a huff from Geoff._

_“I need you to do something for me when that happens.”_

_Jack nodded. “Of course. I’ll do anything you ask.”_

_“I know, Jack.” Geoff gave his hand a squeeze. “I need you to take care of Gavin for me.”_

_A light returned to Geoff’s eyes for a moment. Jack found himself unable to speak, so captivated by the life they contained._

_“He’s gonna need someone there to guide him. Sure, he’s got Michael. But, he needs someone older, someone who can take care of him like I did.” Tears glistened in Geoff’s eyes as he spoke. “And I trust you to do that, Jack. Take care of him, okay?”_

_Jack nodded with earnest. As steward, he was obligated to comply with the king’s wishes._

_As Geoff’s friend, he would do anything without hesitation._

_Geoff smiled again. “Thank you.”_

 

Thinking back on it, he never told Geoff about Michael’s death. Seeing him smile again, even with his limited strength, gave Jack hope. He didn’t want to be the one to take away the brief feeling of solace Geoff possessed by informing him of yet another friend’s death. Jack feared the news would break Geoff’s spirit.

 

Something Jack deeply missed.

 

Of all he liked about Geoff, he would miss his laugh the most. He always looked forward to hearing that cheerful, free sound escape his friend’s lips, making his eyes crinkle in that purely Geoff way. It never failed to pull a chuckle out of himself whenever Geoff’s laugh echoed through the palace’s corridors. Jack had made it his mission to coax a laugh out of his friend whenever possible, revelling in the joyous sound.

 

If he listened closely, he could hear that same laugh in the back of his mind.

 

"Oh, Geoff."

 

But, that was in the past.

 

It was time he moved forward.

 

He drifted from his intended path to the palace, following the familiar route he always took before taking his place at Geoff's side. Villagers waved to him as he passed, to which he returned with a smile and a wave of his own. No one saw through his guise of feigned content. Jack prefered it that way. If anything, the constant assurance of peace needed to be maintained, especially since Ryan became king. There was no telling what he would do. In his state, he could bring down the entire kingdom and believe he had a justifiable reason for it. The world would end in fire, and Ryan would still wear his charming grin and spill false assurances that his intentions remained pure.

 

It made Jack cringe at the thought. In his heart, he knew he could save Ryan. He knew he could straighten him out and set him back on the right path. The path of loyalty and justice that every knight followed.

 

If only he knew where to start.

 

He continued his trek through the village, stopping in front of a modest stone building. Nostalgia washed over him as he took in the few cracks in the walls. He entered with a smile. The familiar layout of his forge brought on memories of the tireless hours he’d spent creating one masterpiece after another. It was colder, he realized, without the fire burning over hot coals. Anvils, some in better shape than others, spent the past few months gathering dust. Weapons and tools lined the walls. Each one had a unique story behind its creation. Jack remembered every one of those stories.

 

Smithing wasn’t merely striking hot metal until something came out of it. It was an art.

 

Those months he’d spent locked away in the palace gave him no time to return to create another masterpiece.

 

He wandered through the building, running his hands over unused tools and anvils as he passed. He absently followed a path he’d grown accustomed to after spending tiresome hours locked within his own world. There was a small room in the back, tucked away in a corner so as to remain almost innocuous. It was nearly empty, save for a bed, a chest, and a simple table. Often, when it was too late to return home, Jack would sleep there. He was able to rise early and begin work as soon as the sun peeked over the hills.

 

Cobwebs gathered in the corners of the room. Torches had long since burned out, plunging the room into a somber darkness.

 

“This place has seen better days.”

 

An idea struck him, then.

 

_Time to move forward._

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun was making its descent and disappearing beyond the horizon, Jack’s shop gleamed. Not a single speck of dust remained. His anvils shone in the dying light, the tools and weapons on the walls previously dulled by grime were restored to their original beauty. Jack admired his work with a satisfied grin. Returning to his original profession was always something he'd longed for, but he never felt right for contemplating leaving Geoff's side, even years prior to his death. Something about him coaxed Jack in, luring him into his world of peace and plenty, and Jack always found himself sticking by his friend whenever he had doubts.

 

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite time to return to his prior involvement.

 

Despite his passion for creating, his desire to serve under Geoff’s orders reigned strong and true. He wanted nothing more than to return to his old life, but leaving Ryan in control to potentially bring the kingdom to its knees was something Jack vowed to never let happen, and he’d be going against that by choosing the simple life.

 

It was with a heavy heart that he left his shop, closing it indefinitely. He couldn’t guarantee a resolution to arise overnight, and as much as he longed for the familiar feeling of a hammer gripped in his hand, he knew his own desires needed to be put on hold.

 

His main priority was Gavin.

 

The moment he entered the palace, Jack set his sights on finding him. His first thought was to check the tree Gavin often retreated to, but spending an obscene length of time searching the courtyard for him proved to be pointless.

 

He changed his course to the barracks. If anything, Gavin would actively avoid anything pertaining to Ryan, and he would purposely distance himself from the throne room, if at all possible. Jack pictured Gavin's small frame curled in a heap on his bed, ensconced in blankets in an attempt to shut away the outside world.

 

His heart ached. Jack's attempt to seek out the young man's presence would no doubt push him further into the empty void he was left in, tumbling and tumbling without an end in sight, without a light or a savior to rescue the ragged man he was slowly becoming. Telling him the news of Geoff's passing would hurt Jack as much as it would hurt Gavin.

 

His footsteps echoed in the corridor, along with the three solid knocks on Gavin's door.

 

"Gavin?"

 

Silence answered him.

 

For a moment, he wondered if Gavin was even occupying the room. He was ready to leave when the unmistakable sound of crying met his ears.

 

He didn't wait for an invitation.

 

Jack entered quietly, shutting the door behind him before carefully approaching the bed.

 

It was just as he imagined. Gavin laid on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and his green scarf entangled in his firm grip. His muffled sobs made him unaware of Jack's presence.

 

He didn't so much as nod when Jack spoke

 

"I need to talk to you, Gavin."

 

Gavin shifted, but only to press his face against the material of the scarf he clung to.

 

Jack sighed, kneeling beside the bed. "I know you're hurting, Gav. I can't imagine the pain you're going through, right now. I know I'll never replace Geoff, but you need to know that I'll try my hardest to support you, no matter what."

 

A whimper escaped him, pulling a defeated sigh from Jack.

 

"Gavin." He reached out to gently squeeze Gavin's shoulder. "Geoff, he—" Jack's words stuck in his throat, but he powered through it. "He passed yesterday."

 

A startled gasp was pulled from Gavin's chest. Immediately, he scrambled away from Jack's touch to press himself against the headboard. With his knees pulled tight to his chest, he looked almost like a child. He white-knuckled the scarf, almost strangling the fabric between trembling fingers. His wide-eyed stare bore straight into Jack. The steward could almost feel the fear and anger stemming from him.

 

Jack regretted nothing more than causing the sight before him.

 

"I'm so sorry, Gav. I am so sorry."

 

Jack expected tears to erupt from him again, but only a tense, tangible silence resided. A palpable sense of dread lingered between them, sparking fear to ignite in Jack's gut.

 

He couldn't possibly take care of Gavin when Gavin refused to speak.

 

"Gav, buddy? You with me?"

 

Gavin tore his gaze away from him. He instead pressed his face against his knees, focusing his glazed stare on a point across the room.

 

Jack knew he'd lost him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack reprises his role as the only sane one.
> 
> Poor Jack. I feel terrible.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter song: [Diary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jSVzngzjlc)


	15. ad finem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter title in Latin, I promise.
> 
> The translation is roughly "to the end."
> 
> There are literally two more chapters after this. Are you ready?

The third day rode in on a storm of nightmares. The symphony of night terrors plagued his waking thoughts as much as they did his subconscious, tying knots in his head and filling his mind with broken music notes strung together by the flowing silk between his fingers. Geoff was dead. The only person who had been a solid final foundation crumbled away, leaving only despair in his place, a vacuum that threatened to steal Gavin away into oblivion.

 

His scarf tethered him to reality, a constant reminder of the Ramsey green amidst the gray. The scarf had been a gift of long past from the king to Gavin. Tears rushed to his eyes as remembrance flooded his cognizance. It was a mere fairy tale to him now, a fiction written in the viridian stitching feigning truth. He never hated the thing more.

 

_He had been young and alone. He was a child strayed from home before he was ready to face the world head on. He had been ragged when Geoff discovered him wandering the outskirts of the forest, muddied and barely alive on grass and dirt. He had been an outcast, but Geoff saw through the mud and grime to the brilliant lighthearted eyes despite the hardship. Geoff saw the man growing within and swept him under his wings. He had been saved that night, and no amount of pestering for years to come prompted a different response than_ “I saw _you_ , Gavin, and your smile. That is enough of a reason”. _Geoff would smile and ruffle his hair playfully, telling him to run off and practice his tricks, telling him_ “All I know is that I don’t regret it, Gav.”

_The years rolled by like that with a smile and a laugh each time Geoff entered the room. Gavin followed him like a brightly clad ghost throughout those years before the day forever etched in his memories came._

_“Gavin, come here.” Geoff waved the young jester over to the throne. Gavin obeyed, more out of curiosity than obligation to the king’s authority. The bells on the tips of his shoes (ugly golden ones that Michael had given him as an early birthday gift the day prior) rang cheerily as he bounced his way past Jack’s amused quiet chuckling. He drew himself to his full height, flicking a stray hair from his face with a twist of his head._

_“I’ve got something for you, Gav.” A deep bark of laughter filled the air as Gavin’s face lit up much more than the king had thought possible._

_“Really? Something for little ‘ole me?” Despite the unbelieving tone, Gavin’s eyes crinkled in elation. The jester couldn’t keep still, bells clinking as his joy ran to his toes. Jack’s laughter melded with Geoff’s snickers, and soon the airy sounds cascaded throughout the throne room._

_Geoff gestured for a servant to approach, a bundle in her hands. Gavin stared at it, a big grin enveloping his face. He started when Geoff coughed lightly with a smiling “Go on, Gav”, and he gently lifted the light package into his own hands. With a quick movement of the wrist, the ribbons tying it fell, and Gavin leaped with a joyous shout at its contents. A brilliant green silken scarf cascaded into his hands which he instantly looped around his neck with a bubbly “thank you, thank you, thank you”._

_“Happy birthday, Gavin,” Geoff had said with a fond grin. “It’s so you will remember why I brought you here; your brilliance lights up the castle perfectly.”_

 

But that day was far in the past, and his brilliance was snuffed out, suffocated by the clouded starlight that laid just beyond his reach now. There was a time when Gavin felt close to those stars, but now he’d crashed into the bitter chill of reality where the moon’s light was no longer a warm silver glitter, but a harsh and unforgiving floodlight that soaked the world in its ethereal justice.

 

He turned once again, tightening his grip on the old scarf. He was losing everyone. Maybe, just maybe, the worn ends of that scarf would wrap around them and secure them with him. Yet too late came too soon, and his friends were already beyond his reach in the stardust. The silk strands ran smoothly under his fingers. He grasped it with all his depleted strength in one final struggle against the inevitable sleep that, in an unwelcome flury, stole his consciousness.

 

Sleep was no better than waking for Gavin. His mind conjured memories from past days, only to twist them into bloody visions of death and decay. He slept for a fitful hour before rising once again at the distant mooing of a castle cow through the open window. He shivered in the midnight breeze and watched as the wind played with the velvet curtains.

 

_He stifled a giggle, wrapping the heavy Ramsey green about himself even tighter. His tiny frame was dwarfed by the massive curtain. If he played his cards right…_

_“Now where did that little Gavin go?” A deep voice boomed from the doorframe. Gavin immediately stilled, willing his frantic heartbeat to go quiet and his heaving breaths to halt. He held his breath. Footsteps paraded the room, and he could hear the shuffling of bedsheets as his pursuer searched._

_“I know you’re in here, Gav.”_

_He clamped his mouth shut as a triumphant giggle forced its way up his throat._

_“Come out, come out wherever you are, you little rascal!” The thumping steps ceased for a moment, and suddenly Gavin found himself face to face with a full ginger beard. “Gotcha!”_

_“Jack!” Gavin squealed as his sixteen year old body flew over Jack’s broad shoulders, extending the vowel much longer than necessary. The older man bellowed, a deep and cheery laugh, as Gavin squirmed in his grip. “Put me down, Jack!”_

_The blacksmith only shook his head as he hauled his cargo out of the boy’s room. Jack readjusted his hold on Gavin every few minutes until Gavin quit in his valiant efforts to rid himself of his captor who was still holding him with ease as if the teenager were a mere ingot of the iron or gold that the blacksmith handled every day in his workshop._

_“C’mon, Gavin, you know the rules.” Jack eased him to the ground, and once his feet touched stone, Gavin knew he was in the throne room where a certain king sat waiting for them, paper and quill in hand. “You’ve been living here for a year, you know.”_

_Gavin swallowed hard, averting his gaze. “Yeah, I know.”_

_Geoff cracked a grin through the stern facade as Gavin shrunk under his gaze. The king leaned forward in the throne, a brilliant twinkle in his eye and a mischievous quirk in his eyebrow. “Jack wins this round, Gav. That makes three in a row. I’d say he won this time, Gav.”_

_The boy frowned, defeated, before his smile split the gloom building on his face. He turned to Jack. “How ‘bout one more go? Wouldn’t that be top?”_

_Jack rolled his eyes with a grin and waved him off. “Fine then. One more round. Go hide.”_

_Gavin practically danced to the doors, and with a final cheeky grin at a chuckling Geoff, he bolted. As the door swung shut, he could hear an exasperated Jack reprimand the king._

_“Shouldn’t you be doing work?”_

_“Jaaaaack! I’m getting to it!”_

 

Those had been simpler times. And nine years later, Gavin found himself waiting for Jack to come find him again with his laughter filling the hallways in an overflow of joy. But those footsteps never came. And so he turned his back on the curtains and closed his ears to the phantom footsteps that echoed in memory’s corridor. No one would be coming for him tonight to pluck him from his misery and carry him away from the spreading darkness in his chest. Jack had left him to his grief. The notion twisted in his stomach, and he curled in on himself like a child. There would be no light hearted rescuer. His rescuer had already succumbed to the same darkness as he. There was nothing now. Only the thorns that were his memories haunting his mind and the ever growing void sucking away his purpose.

 

He tugged on the scarf with all of his strength, a fury suddenly consuming him. A scream rent the air as the finality of it all tore through him. He was angry, furious even. The wrath took hold of him and burned away the sorrow. The anger was a nice distraction. He screamed his rage at Ray for leaving him behind, at Michael for slipping into the darkness before he, at Ryan for snuffing out the light, at Jack who, in all his compassion, had seen straight through him without seeing. And in one final pull, he cried curses at Geoff for abandoning him in his desperate time of need.

  
The scarf snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time a memory of Geoff occurs. There's even a little Jack memory in there, too. No Ryan, unfortunately. Wonder why that is.
> 
> How many of you are upset about the scarf? I know we are. It was a gift, damnit.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter song: [Farewell Symphony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3D2GWM2qQ0&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E&index=10)  
> Team song: Plan G — [Memories](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qlHMQGcFtk)


	16. By that sin fell the angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO CLOSE. We're almost there! Or, with the wise words of Geoff Ramsey... _"prepare your anuses, boys!"_
> 
> And, we're off!

The wood creaked under the shifting weight. Gavin could not lie still. An uneasiness crawled under his skin that was all too distracting from sleep. It felt strange to him, having finally numbed to the sorrow within. At that point, he welcomed the darkness. It was cold, but unfeeling, and he was tired of feeling. His heart had ceased aching with Geoff’s death. There simply was nothing else in his mind but the night.

 

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and firmly planted his feet on the ground for the first time in days. He tested his strength one leg at a time and stood when he was satisfied. His eyes surveyed the tousled bedsheets and landed on the frayed ends of the torn scarf. For but a moment, the visions of Geoff’s goofy smirk and laughter flooded Gavin’s core. The breath he had taken froze in his lungs as he was overwhelmed by the giddy sense of grief once more. He immediately turned away. He could feel his heart sink from his chest at the sight. He reached a shaking hand to the door, pausing to breathe deeply as the anxiety purged him of movement. He closed his eyes and stepped forward. He was tired of standing still. Days of steeping in his depression marred his thoughts. He hated the brilliant greens and plush fabrics surrounding him. He was tired of being the king’s “son”. He was tired of the severed bonds that the age old scarf reminded him of. He was tired of feeling anymore. It hurt to feel anymore.

 

Gavin was tired of hurting.

 

He left the room without so much as a backward glance. In his mind, he could see himself leaving a dark pit behind, only to traverse into a darker void. It scared him, but it was something that must be done. The cloak he’d wrapped around his shoulders sat heavily on him. He could feel the weakness boring into his bones. It sickened him. It was a constant reminder of how he was all too weak. He couldn’t help Geoff or Ray or Michael in their times of desperate need. Instead he had run away. He had chosen a tree over his friends’ lives. He had been too weak. Too weak to be nothing but a nuisance. He was tired of being weak, and he was going to change that.

 

His heart pleaded for him to stop and turn back around, to retreat back to his safehouse of Ramsey green blankets and memories, but the voice of his heart had gotten smaller over time. It was nothing but a distant crying, a bundle of emotions he had left behind. It wasn’t so much his head that was leading him from corridor to corridor. His mind was still wrapped in blackness. Something else was leading him. Maybe intuition, maybe instinct. He didn’t know, but something was screaming, ringing in his ears, and he wanted it to stop. It sounded too much like Michael’s dying breaths. He wanted it to stop.

 

He halted only when he found himself at the throne room doors, staring at the elaborately carved wood and following the flow of wooden vines and trees across the brown expanse. It was like a tiny world recreated just under Gavin’s fingertips. But that world was still a Ramsey world. He shoved it away, and his senses awoke to the creaking of the old hinges. He was rooted to the spot. The screaming in his ears deafened him. Internally, he grimaced, but his face remained stoic.

 

Before him sat the Mad King, legs crossed and fingers steepled in a sinister pose, but it was Ryan’s face that said otherwise. Surprise graced his features for a mere second and Gavin knew that his arrival had been completely unexpected. The king’s knight took longer to notice the presence of the jester.

 

“Oh, hey Gavin!” Kerry greeted him cheerfully only to receive nothing as a response. His face fell as Gavin silently entered the room and approached the throne.

 

“Hello, Gavin.” Ryan’s voice grated on Gavin’s nerves. Somehow it was louder than the ever present screeching in his head. “Great timing. I was about to send for you.” The king’s smile put him off. It was too similar to the grin he had bared at Michael’s fall, but he couldn’t look away. It would tell Ryan that he was still weak. He wasn’t weak anymore, and he was going to prove it.

 

“I’m sure you can probably guess why I sent for you.”

 

The screaming grew louder, and Gavin could make out the words _“help me”_ amidst the painful ringing in his ears.

 

“I need a successor, Gavin.” Ryan had leaned forward. “But I need to know if you’re capable of the task of being Prince Regent.”

 

_“Help me! Help me! Help me!”_

 

“But I thought maybe you would be a perfect fit for the role.” The king chuckled, deep and dark. “As you were basically trained for it the moment you stepped foot inside this castle ten years ago.”

 

_“Gavin, please! You’ve got to help me!”_

 

The jester gave the king a blank look. Ryan grinned widely at him. “Geoff didn’t really tell you he was training you, did he? He really did think of you as his son, you know. And you’re just perfect for the job, Gav.”

 

_“He’s a liar! Filthy cheater! Vagabond!”_

 

Gavin didn’t respond, and it was obvious the lacking replies were irritating to the king. There was a spark flickering in those bright blue irises. A spark of anger.

 

“Gavin. Look at your king.”

 

 _“Murderer! Murderer!”_ Michael’s voice pounded in Gavin’s head, spitting fire into his head. He couldn’t think through all the noise. He wanted to curl up and scream for himself.

 

“Gavin!”

 

With Ryan’s bark of anger, the voice was silenced and suddenly a sense of tranquility flooded the young man’s body. He locked eyes with Ryan and at that moment, Michael’s voice whispered two words.

 

_“Avenge me.”_

 

This time the scream that filled the air was straight from Gavin’s throat and he lunged forward, hand immediately going to the sword glowing a soft blue at his hip and bringing it up just in time to block shining iron from piercing his side. Kerry had leapt into action to defend a speechless king.

 

_“Defend yourself!”_

 

A fiery wrath consumed Gavin and his blade became a whirlwind of blue. Years old training sparked to life in his eyes and he ducked and weaved away from the knight’s blade. Kerry thrust his sword at him in a remarkably precise cut aimed at the jester’s abdomen. Gavin slid back and twisted his body to avoid the attack. His left hand descended as the hilt of Kerry’s sword flew past, and suddenly he gripped the metal with all his might, barely missing the actual blade by mere centimeters.

 

 _“Good. He’s just offered you his sword. Now take it.”_ Michael’s voice sounded and immediately Gavin yanked the knight’s weapon from his hand. Kerry’s gasp of surprise went unnoticed as Gavin paused to flip the weapon so it sat evenly in his left hand. _“Now for the offense. C’mon, Gav, I taught this to you already.”_

 

It didn’t occur to him that it was the voice of a long ago memory instructing him as he leaped forward. The iron sword clumsily skid over the knight’s diamond armor. _“You’ve distracted him. Good. Now aim for the vital points.”_

 

Gavin spotted the unguarded stretch of flesh just below the helmet’s end and swung with all his might.

 

_“Good. Maybe you aren’t hopeless after all, Gavvy.”_

 

His chest heaved as the exertion collided with him finally. He turned away from the man crumpled on the floor, struggling as blood gushed from his neck. Gavin ignored the strangled noises as Kerry choked on his own blood. Instead he turned his wild eyes on Ryan, who gawked at him. He had stood sometime during the fight, but had made no move forward.

 

“Holy shi–”

 

“I’m tired of it, Ryan,” Gavin cocked his head to the left as he flexed his grip on the leather handles of the swords. He ignored Ryan’s confused grunt as he slowly approached. “I’m tired of being in the darkness. I’m tired of feeling. I’m tired of being hurt, Ryan. I’m tired of this. I want it to stop.”

 

“Gavin, listen, you don’t know what you’re doing—” Ryan stuttered, taking a step back towards the throne.

 

“Oh, like you didn’t? I watched you murder my friends in cold blood.” Gavin’s stoic features suddenly broke. A sob fled his throat. Hot trails of tears fled his eyes. “I still wonder how you did it. How can I stop this, Ryan? It hurts.”

 

_“I know it hurts, but he’s dead.”_

 

“Tell me Ryan. How do you stop this? It hurts too much.” Gavin watched as the king reached for his own sword and a flash of terror betrayed Ryan’s fear. “All my friends are dead, and it’s all because of you. You stole their light.”

 

_“He’s really gone, isn’t he?”_

 

“Please, I just want it to stop.” Gavin searched Ryan’s eyes for answers but found nothing but a sudden onslaught of sorrow glinting in the torchlight. “It hurts. It hurts. It hurts! Make it stop, Ryan!”

 

_“Hey Geoff.”_

 

Gavin dropped the iron sword and the clatter echoed loudly throughout the room, shattering the silence. Waves of fear and grief flooded his veins as he reached forward, grasping the rose clasp that held Ryan’s cloak to his shoulders. The king remained silent as Gavin’s sobbing raised in volume in a constant pleas of _“make it stop!”_

 

_“I know you can hear us.”_

 

“It hurts! Make it stop!”

 

_“The gang’s all here.”_

 

Ryan’s sword clattered to the floor and suddenly Gavin could feel the defeat sagging the king’s frame. Ryan placed a hand on Gavin’s messy hair and ruffled it with a sad smile.

 

“I don’t blame you.”

 

_“Hey, you’re always gonna be my boy, ‘kay?”_

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

A grunt and suddenly Gavin found himself accompanied by silence. Ryan slumped to the floor, Gavin’s sword sprouting in a crimson flower from his chest. Gavin felt his legs crumple underneath him, and a void much bigger than he had ever thought possible filled him. Guilt crashed into him harder than he had ever known before.

 

He had killed people.

 

He had killed people he had known and loved. They were dead by his hands. He was drowning in an ocean of blood.

 

He killed Kerry and Ryan.

 

_Murderer! You’re no better than he was! You’re a filthy murderer!_

 

“Oh God,” Gavin whispered into the deadly silence.

 

_Just die like the scum you are! Go join your friends!_

 

“Maybe I will,” Gavin reached for Ryan’s sword which sat in a slowly flowing stream of its owner’s blood. “God, I’m so sorry.”

 

He held the blade to his stomach and sucked in a deep breath.

  
_“GAVIN! NO!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that for an ending, huh? There's still one more chapter left! Eheheh.
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter songs: [Death Dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l04epdSEvtQ) (this is a different, but equally awesome, composer!), [From Darkness She Rises](http://youtu.be/mjliwE2V2Ro), and [Falls of Glory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arOc933683U) (aka the best song ever.)  
> Character song: Ryan — [Broken Bonds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCRxZL5TYHU) and [Red Queen's Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cr0wHbBoZsM)


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, epilogues. Love 'em.
> 
> Good ol' Tolkien.
> 
> Here you are, folks. We really hope you enjoyed the wild ride this story took you on. We're so proud of it.
> 
> But, I'll stop talking.
> 
> Thanks a lot, guys.

**Epilogue**

_**“Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life.”** _

J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

 

Tales of a mythical land spread far and wide, spanning decades upon decades, changing and molding with each culture to create innumerable variations of the same ultimate destination. Some called it Heaven. Others preferred Hell. Within their notable differences, there was one obvious similarity.

 

They were homes for the departed.

 

In a land ruled by kings, rumors of a terrifying world lying just below the surface travelled far. They spoke of great oceans of molten rock stretching far as the eye could see, of fires starting out of seemingly nothing, and of horrid creatures that never saw the light of day as they were doomed to roam in the perpetual red haze of the underworld. It was the home owned by the troubled souls condemned to wander for eternity in an endless void of darkness. Victims of a tragic end became permanent residents. Accompanying them were individuals corrupted by glory. Though they may learn the error of their ways before death, their fate was sealed and they would crash into a raging inferno with a sentence of unending darkness. All would bear the wounds they undoubtedly received as a constant reminder of how they arrived. It was a curse they would all suffer. The name of such a place was known to all, forever burned into their minds.

 

It was called the Nether.

 

Deep below the surface, the Nether resided. Some believed that, if dug deep enough, they would reach the land of magma. During the early mentions of such a world, some so grief-stricken by the loss of a loved one would attempt to discover it in hopes of once again seeing their father, or son. In regions long since forgotten, immense tunnels were created, and volunteers would provide aid in hopes of bridging the two realms. Many, however, were killed. Cave-ins, poor working conditions, famine, and even wildlife claimed the lives of many in the search for the Nether. Hopes of perhaps reuniting with the deceased were quickly dashed.

 

The Nether was a foul place, and all felt great remorse for those poor souls doomed to walk with demons and hellfire.

 

Unbeknownst to them, those souls wandering the Nether were still at peace.

 

Atop a burning mountain stood a man. With a sword at his hip and his strong stance, he bore the air of a palace knight. A decorative brooch adorned his attire, holding in place a worn, yet clearly favored, cloak. Its shade of red was a bit too bright to match the red haze the surrounding area created. His front was darkened with the memory of a self-inflicted wound. Dried blood stained his chest, forever reminding him of his actions. Sounds of roaming wildlife reached his ears, but he was no longer afraid. Upon his arrival, he learned quickly to keep his distance. Though they rarely attacked without provocation, he didn’t want to risk anything.

 

His heart was racing as he overlooked the land below him. Something at the peak of the mountain where he stood caught his attention, and he hoped to investigate. Upon reaching the summit, however, the silhouette he saw was gone.

 

He cursed in his frustration, kicking the ground and startling a creature loitering on the ledge below him.

 

“Whoa, watch the fuck out! I’m standing here!”

 

The voice startled him. Peering over the edge, he was met with the intense stare of the man below. His dark eyes and glare were trademark to his perpetual anger.

 

“Michael?”

 

At the sound of his name, Michael’s expression changed, twisting first into confusion before the realization eventually dawned on him. “Ray!”

 

Both men shared a brief laugh, basking in the mutual relief they felt upon finding each other. Seeing Michael there meant only one thing, but Ray didn’t want to dwell on that thought. Instead, he focused his attention on helping his friend.

 

“Can you climb up? Do you need me to help?”

 

“I dunno.” Michael looked around for a moment. Not far to his right was another ledge. “I think I got it.”

 

Ray nodded. Questions swirled in his head as he let his curiosity bubble. He could only imagine the horror his friends felt after they saw him dead. A momentary wave of guilt passed through him. He made Ryan stay with him as he died. He made his friends stand together and watch as he was laid to rest. He abandoned them, and one of his friends paid with his life.

 

But, this was not the time to grieve.

 

Michael shouted his name. The irritation laced within the words made Ray smile. He certainly missed the warrior’s temper.

 

Michael was reaching up to him. He was just far enough that he couldn’t reach the final few inches he needed. Ray, perched carefully on the edge, extended his arm to Michael and began hauling him up. Michael’s feet struggled for purchase as he was pulled up and over the ledge, where he was finally able to regain his footing and climb to safety.

 

“Finally. Jesus.” Michael dusted himself off before turning to Ray. “Been stuck there for fucking ever.”

 

Ray snorted. “I bet. If I hadn’t seen you, you’d still be there making friends with the mountain.”

 

“Dude, go fuck yourself,” Michael retorted. He was grinning, nonetheless. “Man, it’s good to see you, again.”

 

Ray rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “Ditto.”

 

A silence fell over them. Both were replaying their last encounter in their minds, feeling the sting of regret all over again. Michael’s came from overreacting when Ray approached him. Ray’s stemmed from antagonizing the warrior until he snapped. They both knew an apology was in order, but they didn’t know how to go about it.

 

Eventually, Michael broke the silence. “Alright, look. We were both idiots. You were right, I couldn’t make a rational decision at the time. And, I’m sorry for insulting your heritage. That was a dick move, and we both know it.”

 

Michael looked ready to continue, but Ray interrupted. “And, I’m sorry for calling you a traitor. That was extremely uncalled for.”

 

“The whole damn thing was uncalled for,” Michael admitted. He huffed, kicking the ground at his feet. “But, what’s done is done, I guess. We cool?” He tried desperately not to sound too eager to resolve the situation, but Ray could hear the hope in his voice regardless.

 

Ray smiled. “Yeah. We’re cool.”

 

“Good.” Michael visibly relaxed. Turning, he took a moment in gauging their surroundings. “So, whadda we do now?”

 

Another silence passed as Ray shrugged. He desperately needed Michael to tell him what happened, why he was in the Nether in the first place.

 

Michael saw the questioning gaze Ray gave him. “You wanna know what happened?”

 

“You fucking bet,” Ray answered a bit too quickly, but he didn’t care.

 

Michael didn’t seem to mind, either. The warrior gestured for Ray to follow him and, side by side, they began wandering aimlessly along. “Basically, everything went to shit when you died.”

 

* * *

 

He woke up to the sensation of falling. With a startled gasp, he sat up. His heart was pounding and his head ached. He briefly wondered if he was drunk, but the thought passed relatively quickly. Drunk, no. Dead, however, was a different concept entirely. He could still function when he was drunk. There wasn’t a lot he could do when he was dead. Or at least he thought. He really didn’t have any experience in that area.

 

He let a groan slip through his lips as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. It took a moment for them to adjust to the dim lighting. Observing his surroundings confirmed his suspicions.

 

He was dead.

 

With an irritated sigh, the man finally pulled himself to his feet. The green he so often wore gave his skin an eerie glow. His pale complexion was the result of the sickness that had claimed the man’s life, and the reason why he ended up in the darkest pit of the underworld. He was noticeably thinner, as well. His tunic was almost a size bigger than it was intended.

 

The terrain was mountainous, he noticed. The red stone that seemed to be in abundance burned ceaselessly in some places. Distant cries of the wildlife made him shiver.

 

“The Nether, huh?” He mused. “Well, shit.”

 

He weighed his options. He could stay where he was until a roaming creature came by and killed him, or he could at least make an attempt at trying to find another hopeless soul casually strolling along through hell.

 

Well, he certainly didn’t want to die again.

 

So, he picked a direction and went with it.

 

An easy path stretched up into the mountain before him. Though he couldn’t see the peak through the natural fog, a different alternative wasn’t presented to him. Everywhere he turned led up. The route he chose was the easiest, so he stuck with it. Slowly, he trudged along the path. Despite the lack of exertion, he was still gasping for breath as he climbed higher. The ailment he was stricken with weakened him physically. It would be hell for him, he realized, but he had to persevere.

 

Maybe an oasis waited for him at the top.

 

He could only hope.

 

As he climbed ever higher, he began hearing more wildlife. For a moment, he panicked. He had nothing on him to use as a weapon. Granted, he couldn’t guarantee the native creatures would attack him, but he wanted to be safe, just in case.

 

It was at times like these where he longed to feel the familiar weight of his prized blade in his hand.

 

The sounds became clearer the more he ascended. A voice reached his ears when he neared the top. He almost laughed at himself, because he believed he he was hearing actual words from the creature. Unless he was hallucinating talking animals, it shouldn’t be possible.

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at himself.

 

“I must be going fucking crazy.”

 

The voice was silenced. Panic began to rise in him. Perhaps he’d been discovered?

 

Regardless, he didn’t have time to act. The owner of the voice was already upon him.

 

He almost fell backwards in his shock.

 

“Geoff! Thank fucking Christ!”

 

Michael grabbed him by his arm and pulled him into a crushing embrace. His laughter echoed in Geoff’s ears, and Geoff himself found himself laughing along with him, relief rushing over him as he returned the hug.

 

“You son of a bitch,” Geoff huffed out. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

A second voice registered with him, forcing him to seek out the owner.

 

“Well, it’s pretty obvious. We’re all dead.”

 

His eyes met Ray’s and a great sorrow passed through him. When he heard about the young knight’s suicide, he’d been devastated. Seeing him again, walking and talking, filled him with such joy and guilt all at once.

 

Without a word, Geoff stepped away from Michael and approached Ray, taking the man into his arms and squeezing him for all he was worth.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ray.”

 

Ray stood stunned before hesitantly wrapping his arms around Geoff’s form in reciprocation. The apology struck him in such a way that stirred up his emotions again, sending a pulse of guilt through his veins. Tears welled in his eyes and, even for the life of him, he couldn’t hold them back.

 

He sobbed into Geoff’s shoulder.

 

“It’s alright, buddy,” Geoff soothed. He relaxed his grip a bit, his hand finding its way up to cradle Ray’s head. “It’s alright. You’re safe, now.”

 

Ray’s broken sobs filled the air and, for a moment, Geoff was reminded of similar situations with Gavin. Whenever the boy woke from a nightmare, Geoff would be there to hold him and tell him the very same, offering reassurances to him until he could finally rest. It was akin to an instinct within him to offer comfort to those younger than he. The promises he would make were never empty, and he always came through with them in the end.

 

Ray grabbed fistfuls of his tunic in his despair, pulling Geoff from his thoughts.

 

“Hey. Look at me, kid.”

 

Geoff pulled away enough to look Ray in the eye. He smiled at the boy, warm and friendly and absolutely safe.

 

“You’re gonna be okay, Ray.” Even his eyes shone, expressing the same life they held before everything. “I promise.”

 

Ray could only nod. Geoff pulled him back in, moving his hand in slow circles along the middle of his back.

 

As Ray’s weeping was reduced to mere sniffles, he regained his voice. “I’m sorry, Geoff.”

 

“Now, wait a minute.” Geoff held him at arm’s length. “Don’t say shit like that.”

 

“But, it’s my fault—”

 

Geoff raised his hand. Ray immediately closed his mouth, complaining inwardly about his inability to break old habits. “I want you to stop right there. Granted, _yes_ , you could have gone about dealing with it another way. But, it was _our_ fault—” He gestured between himself and Michael. “—for not being there when you needed us.”

 

Ray quirked his brow. “You were technically incapacitated.”

 

“Whatever, but still.” He gripped Ray’s shoulders firmly. “The point is, we were shit friends.”

 

Geoff ignored Michael’s indignant _“hey!”_ , but smiled at the ghost of a smirk on Ray’s face. “And, I’m sure they’re sorry, too.”

 

Michael took the cue and, pointedly giving Geoff a gentle shove, clapped a hand on Ray’s back. “Just glad you’re back with us.”

 

A smile made itself known on Ray’s face. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“Now, enough with the waterworks.” Geoff ruffled Ray’s hair playfully, thoroughly enjoying the exasperated protest. “I want answers.”

 

He turned his questioning stare upon Michael, who backed up and held his arms up in mock surrender. “Who, me?”

 

Geoff rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you. Asshole. What the fuck happened?” He gestured to the scar on the warrior's neck.

 

Michael gave an irritated huff. “Christ, Geoff. Couldn’t you have been a little earlier? I just told Ray everything, and I don’t wanna explain it all again.”

 

“Too fucking bad, hotshot,” Geoff quipped. “Just pull up a nice patch of dirt and start talking.”

 

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

 

Geoff only smirked.

 

* * *

 

The memories hit him with excruciating force. Images blurred together and cleared sporadically, fabricating a messy playback in his mind. He saw the palace, its tallest tower touching the endless expanse of the cerulean sky. He caught glimpses of his friends standing around him, reminiscent of his arrival to the kingdom. There were flashes of his youth thrown into the mix, as well. Lord Edgar stood before him. A twisted smile graced his lips as he gazed upon the knight no longer regarded as his apprentice. There was an evil glint in his eyes, making the young knight flinch under his scrutiny. More memories blended together. It was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. Sometimes, his friends would appear at his knighting ceremony. He saw Geoff standing before him. His mouth moved in the same way it had when he asked the vagabond to join his Court. But, the scene was different. Instead of standing in the throne room of the palace, he stood before an obsidian casket, watching as it disappeared under mounds of dirt to rest forever below the ground they walked on.

 

The morbid reminder tore a scream from his chest.

 

The torment passed, leaving a phantom sting in his abdomen. He fumbled blindly for the outlier protruding from him, but he only grabbed a fistful of air. The pain subsided until only a dull ache remained. His breaths came in shallow gasps. For a moment, he only heard the beating of his heart pounding in his ears. With every minute that passed, his mind became clearer until he was finally able to think again.

 

His moment of clarity lasted briefly as he remembered.

 

Without warning, the images returned, bringing with them a white hot agony that attacked him. His head throbbed with its intensity. His mouth opened in a wordless cry as he was momentarily incapacitated by the pain. Memories of blood and grief stirred up negative emotions. Their gruesome sights plagued him, serving as a constant reminder of his actions. Only one rational thought remained with him during his agony.

 

“I’m _sorry!_ “

 

The pain lessened.

 

He repeated the phrase over and over again. Before long, it became a repetition of apologies, each one becoming more insistent the longer he dragged it on.

 

Even as the pain vanished entirely, his mouth still moved in the same, silent mantra.

 

He fell to his knees, ignoring the sting from the impact.

 

His voice, barely above a whisper, was the loudest sound to reach his ears.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Tears fell without restraint as he knelt there, allowing himself to cry for the first time since Ray's passing. Violent sobs wracked his body as he was slammed with realization. Not until then was he exposed to the horrors of his actions.

 

_You killed people. Good, innocent people._

_You killed your friends._

 

"Oh, God."

 

His sobs transitioned to shallow, panting breaths. He couldn't breathe.

 

_You killed them._

 

He was lightheaded. His vision became tunneled, and he was on the verge of passing out.

 

In his panic, he didn't notice the hand resting gently on his shoulder.

 

"Easy there, buddy. You'll blackout if you keep this up."

 

The voice was soothing. Slowly, the presence registered with him. A man stood at his side, offering words of encouragement and pulling him out of his panic. He leaned heavily against the solid frame as his breathing evened out.

 

"That's it. Just keep doing that."

 

The stranger's hand rubbed slow circles on his back. Breathing became easier. He thought about speaking up to thank the one that helped him through his episode, but he didn't have the strength to find his voice. All he could manage was a nod.

 

"Think you can stand?"

 

Another nod. A hand was extended towards him, pale and trembling slightly. He was almost apprehensive about taking it, but he wasn't given another alternative.

 

He gripped it firmly and hauled himself to his feet.

 

He opened his mouth to thank the man, but his breath caught in his throat.

 

"—Geoff?"

 

A familiar smile broke out on Geoff’s face.

 

“Ryan, dude. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Despite the humorous jibe, Ryan could still feel bile rising in his throat. Geoff’s smile contorted into a frown at the expression Ryan’s face took.

 

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” He reached out, placing both hands on Ryan’s shoulders. “I know it hurts, bud. But, it’s over. You need to let go."

 

Ryan swallowed the lump in his throat. "Let go..."

 

"Exactly," Geoff agreed. "You gotta let all of it go. It's over."

 

"...it's over."

 

Ryan let the thought linger in his head.

 

_Over._

 

In the midst of his panic, he remembered how cluttered his mind was, how his thoughts were a scrambled mess, clouding his judgment in his grief. He let the despair and guilt overwhelm him until it was unbearable. He let himself slip into a void, his entire being consumed by an uncontrollable rage directed at no one but himself.

 

He didn't feel any of that, any more.

 

He could think again. Control of his emotions and thoughts were his own once more. No longer was he subjected to the torment accompanying his grief. His rationale returned. Morbid desires didn't plague his subconscious as they once had.

 

He was free.

 

But, there was still one more burden that needed dealt with.

 

"I need to..."

 

His voice trailed off. Geoff quirked his brow at him.

 

"Need to...what? What do you need, Ryan?"

 

A moment of silence passed before Ryan finished.

 

"I need to apologize."

 

Geoff nodded. "To who?"

 

"Everyone. To you, Michael, and Ray. Are—" Ryan looked around. Confusion contorted his features as he finally took in his surroundings. He realized then that he didn't recognize the environment. "—are they here?"

 

Geoff heaved a sigh. "They're here. Do you even know what 'here' is, dude?"

 

He gazed around a moment longer. The red stone, the only light source being the flames that seemed to burn ceaselessly, the heat. All of it meant only one place.

 

"The Nether?"

 

"The one and only."

 

Suddenly, Ryan couldn’t breathe again.

 

He had condemned his friends to the horrors of the Nether. Without realizing it, he had sent the few people he ever cared about to roam the endless expanse of what could only be described as hell. Instead of rolling fields of roses, boisterous parties that went on for eternity, or whatever their idea of a peaceful afterlife was, he sent them to live in their own personal nightmare.

 

The guilt reached him, even in death.

 

He was on the verge of hyperventilating again. His breaths came quick and shallow. His head began spinning and he implored his mind to let him blackout, to let him fall into the depths of unconsciousness. He’d rather have the company of an empty blackness than the presence of a perpetual guilt laid within an eerie red haze.

 

A warm, familiar hand gripped his shoulder, jostling him out of his daze. He was faced with Geoff's intense stare.

 

"Ryan, look at me." Geoff gave him another firm shake. "Look at me, buddy. You with me?"

 

Ryan noticed Geoff's trembling hand, immediately feeling guilty for forcing him through the exertion.

 

He opened his mouth to utter another apology, but Geoff beat him to it.

 

"If you say 'I'm sorry' one more time, I'll beat you myself." A sigh escaped Geoff's lips. "I know, man. I understand. But, it's not me you should be apologizing to."

 

Geoff nudged Ryan's shoulder, forcing him to turn around. Ryan wanted to object, but his train of thought derailed as soon as he caught sight of movement.

 

Two figures appeared around the corner, silhouetted within the murky air. They walked in sync. One held his hand on the pommel of his blade, assuming a stance akin to how a knight would often stand. The other walked stiffly, his gaze focused forward. It was as if he was spurred on by mere impulse. He exuded obvious reluctance.

 

Geoff greeted them with a smile and a cheerful _"hey, boys"_ that had Ryan gawking at the pair as they approached them.

 

Michael glared at him. He looked poised to strike him down. The faint scarring across his neck made Ryan flinch as the memory of Michael lying dead at his feet returned. He could still smell the stench that wafted and assaulted his nostrils as the crimson substance pooled at his feet. There was so much that needed said, but Ryan was paralyzed by shock and guilt.

 

Beside him stood Ray. Ryan felt tears welling as they threatened to spill upon seeing him again. The _real_ Ray. The flesh and blood of the man Ryan called his best friend. Not the apparition, the hallucination Ryan's subconscious conjured up in an attempt to deal with his grief. It was truly _him_.

 

"Ray," he choked out. He was certain he gained control of his emotions, but the moment he caught a glimpse of the splotch of red adorning Ray's front, the floodgates burst forth an overflow of sorrow.

 

"Oh god, _Ray_."

 

Tears fell in a steady stream as Ryan moved forward. His arms pulled Ray into a tight embrace, and he sobbed into his shoulder.

 

"I'm sorry, Ray. I am so sorry. I—" Ryan struggled to string the right words together. "You weren't supposed to die," he confessed. "You were _never_ supposed to die. I'm so sorry. I thought—god, I thought everything was okay. I thought _you_ were okay, and I was so _stupid_ for thinking that. I—" Ryan breathed a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry I let you down."

 

Ray was stunned. When Geoff told them he'd found Ryan, he was terrified. After Michael told them what happened, Ray was certain the Ryan that walked the Nether wasn't the same one he left behind. He imagined blood-stained hands and a wild look to him.

 

An apology was the last thing on his mind.

 

When Ryan hugged him, he was reluctant to return it. But, as he admitted his wrongs in a teary-eyed confession, Ray found himself on the verge of tears, as well.

 

After all, he was the one that made Ryan witness his final moments.

 

Hesitantly, Ray's arms circled around Ryan, returning the gesture. He felt Ryan's grip on him tighten, and Ray reciprocated with an equal force.

 

"I'm sorry too, Ry." His voice was softer than he'd intended. "I'm sorry you were the one that found me. I'm sorry for doing it. I wasn't thinking."

 

The trickle of apologies soon became a flood as Ray muttered each one against Ryan's shoulder.

 

Neither of them moved until the tears ceased.

 

Ryan moved away first, keeping his hands on Ray's shoulders as he stepped back. He met the younger's gaze, whispering one final apology.

 

Ray could only nod. He continued nodding until a faint smile tugged at Ryan's lips.

 

Ryan cleared his throat before speaking loud enough for Michael and Geoff to hear. "We cool?"

 

The question pulled a slight chuckle from Ray. "Yeah," he replied. "We're cool."

 

Ryan's smile widened, only looking away from Ray when Michael let out a melodramatic groan.

 

"Christ, is the lovefest over yet? Goddamn, I feel like I'm watching a fucking romcom."

 

Ryan shrugged. "You know me. I like the theatrics and whatnot."

 

His attempt at humor caused Geoff and Ray to snicker, but Michael still looked at him like he was a monster. His cold stare pierced Ryan deep enough that he couldn't maintain eye contact with him. When he looked away, Michael huffed.

 

"Right!" Geoff clapped his hands together, drawing the attention away from the ever-growing tension between the two. "Something tells me it's story time." He looked expectantly towards Ryan, who have a defeated sigh.

 

"You want to know how I died," he said plainly.

 

Geoff nodded. "I noticed the, uh—" he gestured vaguely to the red stain on Ryan's tunic. "So, you'd better spill it. What fucker did you in?"

 

Ryan sighed again. He met everyone's expectant stare before turning his gaze to the ground. "You won't like it."

 

"Oh, I think I'm gonna _love_ it," Michael spat.

 

Geoff shot him a glare that the warrior shied away from. "Tell us, Ryan. Who killed you?"

 

There was a moment where Ryan opted to lie. He wanted to tell them it was just an anonymous assailant, that he was caught unaware, or perhaps killed in his sleep.

 

He contemplated telling them it was self-inflicted.

 

But, they were all smarter than that.

 

He couldn't drag out the silence any longer. With a heavy sigh, he finally met Geoff's gaze.

 

"Gavin killed me."

 

Something in Geoff's expression changed that sparked fear to rise in Ryan's gut. There was a silent fury blazing in his eyes telling Ryan to flee, but he was rooted to the spot, his fear keeping him in place.

 

The next thing he knew, Geoff grabbed the front of his tunic, and Ray was shouting at him to step back. Geoff, either ignoring Ray or tuning him out completely, was right in Ryan's face as he grit out, "Don't you fucking lie to me."

 

"I'm not!" Ryan's heart was racing. Every instinct told him to fight off the attacker, to overpower him and run away.

 

But, it was _Geoff_ who was attacking him. Ryan couldn't bring himself to bring harm to him a second time.

 

"Geoff, _please_." Ryan gripped Geoff's hands that were fisted in the fabric. "I'm telling the truth. Gavin killed me. I wish it wasn't true either, but you have to believe me. Gavin murdered me and took the throne."

 

The rage that consumed Geoff was ebbing. His hands loosened their hold on Ryan's collar, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. He stepped away from Ryan, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

 

Ryan continued. "There was a moment where he came to me. He begged me to take his pain away, and I wanted nothing more than to comply. I wanted to bring him peace, Geoff. But, I had no idea how.

 

"The only thing I knew was that I wasn't going to kill him." Ryan's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I dropped my sword. I was completely at his mercy. Before he killed me, though, I realized what was happening. I knew what was going through his head, because I experienced the same torment he was going through. Geoff—" Ryan took a step forward. He made sure to meet the man's gaze before continuing.

  
"I think he's going mad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you all are dying for that surprise, aren't you? Yeah, you are.
> 
> Well, here it is: _we're writing a sequel._
> 
> Music:  
> Chapter songs: [Aeternum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKEnVdaGIK8) and [Forgive Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbp8GaALXp8&index=11&list=PL2921CDC52A5D2D2E)
> 
> Again, thanks _so_ so much for all the positive feedback we've received. It's such a pleasure to know just how much emotion we invoked, especially since our last collaboration ended up a little, meh.
> 
> You get it. It happens, but hey. We decided to give it another go, and we are still absolutely _floored_ at the response this got. You guys have been great.
> 
> We hope you stick around for the inevitable sequel!


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